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EMBELLISHED    WITH  NUMEROUS   STEEL    PLATE 
ENGRA  VINGS 


VOLUME    I 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1888 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 
REV.  J.  T.  HEADLEY 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


AND  BOOKBINDING  cownmr. 

H£W  YORK. 


College 
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:DC" 
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I  H  54- 


v. 


PEEFAOE 


FOE  years  the  character  and  results  of  the  great 
struggle  of  France  just  before  and  during  Bonaparte'a 
jareer,  were  wholly  misconstrued  by  us.  In  the  days  of 
.he  old  Federal  party,  the  Federalists,  still  clinging-  in 
affection  to  the  mother  country,  took  sides  with  her 
against  France,  while  the  Jeffersonians  sympathized 
with  the  latter.  Bonaparte  became  strongly  mixed  up 
in  our  politics,  and  that,  too,  at  a  time  when  political 
animosities  ran  higher  than  they  ever  have  since.  New 
England  was  Federal,  and  at  that  time  being  the  centre 
of  learning  and  intelligence,  gave  tone  and  character 
to  our  literature.  But,  sharing  all  the  hatred  of  Eng- 
land against  France,  and  that  animosity  intensified  by 
political  hostility  to  the  Jeffersonians,  who  hated  Eng- 
land, the  Federals  filled  our  literature  with  the  gross 
falsehoods  which  disgraced  England,  and  render  her  re- 
cords at  that  period  utterly  worthless.  France  was  in- 


Tl  PREFACE. 

tidel,  and  Bonaparte  an  ambitious  tyrant,  a  second 
Alexander,  determined  to  conquer  the  world — these 
were  established  facts  it  the  New  England  creed,  and 
were  rung  in  endless  changes  over  the  country.  Some 
of  the  best  and  purest  men  of  that  section,  accepting 
English  history  as  true,  wrote  and  spoke  respecting 
Bonaparte  and  the  wars  in  which  France  was  engaged, 
with  an  ignorance  that  to-day  fills  us  with  astonishment. 
According  to  them,  France  was  a  nation  without  one 
redeeming  quality,  and  Bonaparte  guilty  of  every  crime 
man  is  capable  of  committing,  except  cannibalism. 

But  the  time  came  when  the  literature  of  this  coun- 
try began  to  shake  itself  clear  of  English  trammels, 
and  then  the  true  character  of  that  long  and  fearful 
struggle  was  revealed.  The  wild  up-heaving  of  the 
French  Revolution  was  seen  to  be  the  result  of  OUT  own 
struggle  for  independence,  and  the  succeeding  wars 
arose  from  democracy  throwing  down  the  gauntlet  to 
despotism.  The  sanctimonious  pretence  of  England  that 
she  was  fighting  for  human  liberty,  and  to  help  put 
down  the  conqueror  of  the  world,  is  now  stamped  a  false 
hood  by  every  enlightened  man.  She,  with  the  other 
Continental  powers,  was  fighting  solely  to  prevent  the 
spread  of  our  republican  principles.  To  see  marshals, 
dukes,  and  kings  made  out  of  common  soldiers,  offended 
their  pride,  and  awoke  all  their  hostility.  Their  efforts 
arrested,  but  did  not  extinguish  this  republican  senti- 
ment, and  one  has  only  to  contemplate  Europe  before 
the  advent  of  Napoleon  and  now,  to  see  the  wondrous 


PREFACE.  Tli 

change  he  has  wrought.  Let  the  same  relative  progresi 
be  made  for  sixty  years  to  come,  and  there  will  hardly 
be  a  crowned  head  left  in  Europe.  Such  a  struggle,  led 
on  by  men  taken  from  the  lower  classes,  and  mounting 
to  power  by  the  force  of  genius  alone,  must  ever  be  in- 
teresting to  Americans.  To  see  kings  and  lords  and 
nobles  of  every  degree  go  down  before  men  who  rose 
from  the  ranks,  might  well  astonish  the  world. 

It  has  been  my  design,  in  the  following  work,  not 
only  to  give  the  true  character  of  Napoleon,  and  the 
wars  he  waged,  but  to  illustrate  the  men  who  led  his 
armies  to  victory — forming,  as  they  do,  a  group  the  like 
of  which  the  world  has  never  seen.  Their  battles  rev- 
olutionized the  whole  art  of  war,  and  form  a  gallery  of 
pictures  that  has  no  equal  in  the  history  of  any  nation. 
Many  of  these  -renowned  battle-fields  I  have  gone  over 
in  person,  and  hence  been  able  to  give  more  accurate 
descriptions  than  I  otherwise  could.  These  will  never 
lose  their  interest  while  great  deeds  are  admired  and 
true  heroes  honored.  Napoleon's  marshals  can  appro- 
priately be  placed  side  by  side  with  our  own  great  gei  e« 
rals  of  the  present  war. 

The  portraits  are  copies  of  those  in  the  national  gaJ- 
leries  of  France,  and  hence  must  be  considered  accurate 
likenesses 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  I. 


I. 

NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

A  Defence  of  him  agaiust  English  historians — Analysis  of  his  charac- 
ter— Causes  of  his  success — His  Death 11 

II. 

MARSHAL    BERTHIER. 

DDKE  OP  NEUFCHATEL.      PRINCE  OF  WAGRAM, 

The  talents  a  Revolution  develops — Creation  of  the  Marshals — Ber- 
thier's  character  and  history — Soliloquy  of  Napoleon — Berthier's 
Death 7g 

III. 

MARSHAL   AUGEREAU. 

DUKE  OF  CASTIGLIONE. 

His  early  Life  and  Character— His  campaigns  in  Italy — Battle  of 
Castiglione— Battle  of  Arcola— Revolution  of  the  18th  Fructidor— 
Charge  at  Eylau — His  traitorous  conduct  and  disgrace  ....  94 

IT. 

MARSHAL  DAVOUST. 

DCKE  OF  ACERSTADT.      PRINCE  OF  ECKMTJHL. 

His  Character— Battle  of  Auerstadt— Cavalry  action  at  Eckmuhl-  - 
Retreat  from  Russia 122 

V. 

MARSHAL  ST.    CYR. 

His  Life— Character— Profession  of  a  Painter— Combat  at  Biberach 
—Buttle  of  Polotsk— Battle  of  Dresden 151 


X  CONTENTS. 

VI. 

MARSHAL  LANNES. 

DUKE  OF  MONTEBELLO. 

Principle  on  which  Bonaparte  chose  bis  officers— Passage  of  Lodi— 
Battle  of  Montebello— Battle  of  Marengo— Siege  of  SaragosBa— 
Battlu  of  Asperu,  and  death  of  Lannea 181 

VII. 

MARSHAL   MONCEY. 

DUKE  OF  CORNEGLIANO. 

His  early  life— Operations  in  Spain — The  presentation  oy  Napoleon 
of  his  son  to  him  and  the  National  Guard — His  noble  efforts  in  be- 
half of  Ney-  -Reception  of  Napoleon's  body  when  brought  from  St 
Helena 228 

VIII. 
MARSHAL   MACDONALD. 

DUKE  OF  TARENTUM. 

His  early  life — Quarrel  with  Napoleon— His  passage  ol  the  Splugen 
— Charge  at  Wagram — Defence  at  Leipsic — His  Character  .  .  .  241 

IX. 

MARSHAL    MORTIER. 

DUKE    OF  TREVISO. 

HI*  early  life — Character — Battle  of  Dirnstein — Burning  of  Moscow 
— Blowing  iip  of  the  Kremlin— His  bravery  at  Krasnoi  .  .  .  .271 

X. 

MARSHAL    SOUL  T. 

DUKE  OF  DALMATIA. 

His  early  career — Campaigns  with  Massena — H:a  character — Battle  of 
Austerlitz — His  flrst  Campaign  hi  Spain — Death  of  Sir  John  Moore 
Storming  of  Oporto— Retreat  from  Portugal — Battle  of  Albuera— 
Second  Campaign  in  Spain— Siege  of  St.  Sebastian! — Soult's  last 
ttruggle  for  the  Empire 300 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

I.   NAPOLEON  AS  A  GENERAL, I 

II.   NAPOLEON  AS  EMPEROR,             17 

III.  MARSHAL  DAVOUST, 122 

IV.  MARSHAL  LANNES, 185 

V.    MARSHAL  MACDONALD, 242 

VI.    MARSHAL  SOULT, 300 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

A  Defence  of  him  against  English  Historians — Analysis  <  f  his  Choracta 
— Causes  of  his  Success — His  Death. 

PERHAPS  there  is  no  greater  example  of  the  control 
English  literature  and  English  criticism  exert  ove* 
public  opinion  in  this  country,  than  the  views  they 
have  impressed  upon  it  respecting  Bonaparte.  With 
Wordsworth,  Southey,  and  Byron,  in  poetry,  and 
Scott,  and  Alison,  and  the  English  Reviews,  in  prose, 
all  making  him  a  monster  in  cruelty  and  selfishness, 
even  though  he  might  be  an  angel  in  genius  ;  we  have, 
without  scruple,  adopted  the  same  sentiments,  and  set 
him  down  as  a  scourge  of  his  race. 

The  few  American  writers  that  have  ever  at- 
tempted to  give  an  analysis  of  his  character,  and  a 
fair  criticism  on  his  actions,  have  failed,  by  judging 
him  as  if  he  had  grown  up  on  the  Puritan  soil  of  New 
England,  instead  of  amid  the  chaos  and  anarchy  of 
France,  and  the  exciting  sounds  of  war  as  Europe 
moved  to  battle.  Their  criticisms  have  in  reality 
usually  been  mere  essays  on  the  horrors  of  war,  in 
which  Bonaparte  figures  as  the  chief  illustration. 
There  is  no  recognition  of  the  peculiar  trials  thai 


18  II  IS     SLANDERERS. 

surrounded  him,  of  the  genius  that  mastered  them, 
of  the  temptations  to  which  he  was  exposed,  and  the 
necessity  that  frequently  compelled  him  to  courses 
that  warred  with  his  wishes. 

English  historians  make  no  scruple  of  belying  him  ; 
and  while  some  of  our  American  writers,  by  placing 
on  him  the  guilt  of  those  desolating  wars  that  loaded 
Europe  witli  the  dead,  have  done  him  gross  injustice  ; 
they  have  also  committed  an  unpardonable  error 
in  history.  That  English  historians  should  attempt 
to  cover  their  most  successful  enemy  with  unmerited 
guilt,  especially  when  it  is  necessary  to  do  so,  in 
order  to  screen  their  own  nation  against  the  accusa- 
tions which  France  lays  at  her  door,  is  to  be  ex- 
pected. Still  Scott  has  done  himself  more  injury  in 
his  Life  of  Napoleon  than  he  has  the  great  man  he 
slandered ;  and  Mr.  Mitchell,  who  has  lately  written 
three  volumes  to  convince  men  that  Napoleon  was  a 
fool,  has  succeeded  only  in  proving  himself  one.  Mr. 
Alison  is  almost  the  only  one  who  has  at  all  com- 
prehended his  true  character ;  but,  while  he  is 
forced  to  bear  noble  testimony  to  his  genius,  he  is 
afraid  of  oifending  the  prejudices  and  vanity  of  his 
countrymen,  and  so  attempts,  as  an  offset  to  his 
praise,  to  prove  him  destitute  of  conscience,  and  ca- 
pable of  great  meannesses.  To  do  this,  he  not  only 
falsifies  history,  but  drags  forth,  with  the  most  ludi- 
crous gravity,  all  the  petulent  speeches  he  ever  made 
in  sudden  ebullitions  of  passion,  or  in  the  first  chagrin 
of  disappointment.  The  unjust  and  passionate  re- 
marks a  man  of  Napoleon's  temperament,  ho\\rever 
noble  his  character,  will -always  make  in  moments 
of  irritation,  are  arrayed  against  his  greatest  acts 
with  studied  exaggeration,  and  declared  sufficient  tc 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  11) 

neutralize  them  all.  This  is  like  going  into  a  man's 
bed-chamber  to  report  his  unguarded  speeches,  or 
making  a  peevish  remark  to  a  servant  in  a  moment  of 
irritability,  offset  the  noblest  acts  of  his  life. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  whether  we  think  of  his 
mazing  genius — his  unparalleled  power  of  embrac- 
ing vast  combinations,  while  he  lost  sight  of  none  ol 
the  details  necessary  to  insure  success — his  rapidity 
of  thought,  and  equally  sudden  execution — his  tire- 
less energy — his  ceaseless  activity — his  ability  to 
direct  the  movements  of  half  a  million  of  soldiers  in 
different  parts  of  the  world,  and  at  the  same  time 
reform  the  laws — restore  the  finances — and  adminis- 
ter the  government  of  his  country;  or  whether  we 
trace  his  dazzling  career  from  the  time  he  was  a  poor 
proud  charity  boy  at  the  Military  School  of  Brienne, 
to  the  hour  when  he  sat  down  on  the  most  brilliant 
throne  of  Europe,  he  is  the  same  wonderful  man — 
the  same  grand  theme  for  human  contemplation. 

But  before  entering  on  his  character,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  whatever  unjust  prejudices  we  entertain 
should  be  removed,  and  our  errors  in  history  cor- 
rected. The  first  great  barrier  in  the  way  of  ren- 
dering him  justice,  is  the  conviction  every  where 
entertained,  that  he  alone,  or  chiefly,  is  chargeable 
with  those  desolating  wars  that  covered  the  Conti- 
nent with  slain  armies.  His  mounting  ambition  is 
placed  at  the  foundation  of  them  all,  and  no  greatness 
of  mind  can  of  course  compensate  for  the  guilt  of  such 
wholesale  murder. 

It  is  impossible  for  one  who  has  not  travelled 
amid  the  monarchies  of  Europe,  and  witnessed 
their  nervous  fear  of  republican  principles,  and 
their  fixed  determination  at  whatever  sacrifice  ot 


20  THE     FKENCH     REPUBLIC. 

justice,  human  rights,  and  human  life,  to  maintain 
their  oppressive  forms  of  government,  to  appreciate  at 
all  the  position  of  France  at  the  time  of  the  revo- 
lution. The  balance  of  political  power  had  been 
the  great  object  of  anxiety,  and  all  the  watchfulness 
directed  against  the  encroachment  of  one  state  on 
another ;  and  no  one  can  imagine  the  utter  consterna- 
tion with  which  Europe  saw  a  mighty  republic  sud- 
denly rise  in  her  midst.  The  balance  of  power  was 
forgotten  in  the  anxiety  for  self-preservation.  The 
sound  of  the  falling  throne  of  the  Bourbons  rolled 
like  a  sudden  earthquake  under  the  iron  and  cen- 
tury-bound frame-work  of  despotism,  till  every  thing 
heaved  and  rocked  on  its  ancient  foundations.  Our 
Declaration  of  Independence,  the  everlasting  and  im- 
mutable principles  of  human  rights,  were  uttered  in 
the  ears  of  the  astonished  world,  and  unless  that 
voice  could  be  hushed,  that  alarming  movement 
checked,  every  monarchy  of  Europe  would  soon  have 
a  revolution  of  its  own  to  struggle  with.  That  the 
revolution  of  France  was  justifiable,  if  a  revolution 
is  ever  so,  no  one  acquainted  with  the  history  oi 
that  time  can  for  a  moment  doubt.  The  violence 
that  marked  its  progress  shows  only,  as  Macauley 
Bays,  the  greater  need  of  it.  At  all  events,  France, 
confused,  chaotic,  bleeding,  and  affrighted,  stood 
up  and  declared  herself,  in  the  face  of  the  world,  a 
republic.  She  made  no  encroachments  on  other  states, 
sought  no  war,  for  she  needed  all  her  strength  and 
energy,  to  save  herself  from  internal  foes.  But  the 
powers  of  Europe  determined  to  crush  her  at  once 
before  she  had  acquired  strength  and  consisten- 
cy. First,  Austria  and  Prussia  took  up  arms, 
with  the  avowed  purpose  of  aiding  Lo-iis.  Aftei 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  21 

bis  death,  Holland,  Spain,  and  England  came  into 
the  alliance,  and  mrved  down  on  that  bewildered 
republic.  Here  was  the  commencement  and  origin 
of  all  the  after  wars  that  devastated  Europe.  Not 
on  France,  but  on  the  allied  powers,  rests  the  guilt 
of  setting  in  motion  that  terrible  train  of  evils  which 
they  would  fain  transfer  to  other  shoulders.  It  was 
a  war  of  principle  and  a  war  of  aggression.  It  was 
despotism  invading  liberty — oppression  summoning 
human  rights  to  lay  down  its  arms,  and  because  it 
would  not,  banding  the  world  together  to  crush  the 
republic  that  nourished  them.  Bonaparte  was  yet  a 
boy  when  this  infamous  war  was  strewing  the  banks  oi 
the  Rhine  with  slain  armies. 

After  struggling  bravely  for  years  for  self-defence, 
France  at  length  found  her  saviour  in  the  young  Cor- 
sican.  Quelling  the  revolt  of  the  sections  in  Paris, 
he  was  appointed  to  the  command  of  the  army  of 
Italy.  He  found  it  badly  provisioned,  worse  paid, 
ragged  and  murmuring,  yet,  by  his  energy,  skill 
and,  more  than  all,  by  his  example,  restored  order 
and  confidence;  and,  though  numbering  less  than 
forty  thousand  men,  replenished,  as  it  wasted  away, 
by  slender  reinforcements,  he  with  it  attacked  and  cut 
to  pieces  several  armies,  the  most  magnificent 
Austria  could  furnish,  finishing  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant campaigns  the  world  has  ever  witnessed,  amid 
the  tumultuous  joy  of  the  French.  The  next  year 
he  subjugated  Lombardy,  and  forced  the  Austrian 
plenipotentiary,  by  his  daring  threats,  to  sign  the 
treaty  of  Campo  Farmio,  which  was  most  favoura- 
ble to  the  French  Republic.  In  the  bloody  battles 
of  Millessimo,  Montenotte,  Lodi,  Arcola,  and  Castig- 
lione,  and  Rivoli,  he  certainly  acted  as  became  a 


22  H  I  8     I)  E  8  1  It  E  8  . 

general  fighting  under  the  orders  of  his  government, 
carrying  on  a  defensive  war  with  a  boldness,  skill,  and 
success,  considering  the  superiority  of  the  force  opposed 
to  him,  deserving  of  the  highest  praise. 

Returning  to  Paris  in  triumph,  hailed  everywhere 
as  the  saviour  of  France,  he  notwithstanding  became 
lired  of  his  inactive  life,  and  still  more  weary  of  the 
miserable  Directory  to  whose  folly  ho  was  compelled 
to  submit,  and  proposed  the  expedition  to  Egypt. 
This  furnishes  another  charge  against  Bonaparte, 
and  this  war  is  denounced  as  aggressive  and  cruel, 
growing  out  of  a  mad  ambition.  That  it  was  un- 
just, no  one  can  deny ;  but  instead  of  being  a  thing 
worthy  of  censure  by  the  cabinets  of  Europe,  it  was 
simply  carrying  out  their  own  systems  of  policy.  Ilia 
designs  on  the  East,  were  just  such  as  England  had  for 
years  been  prosecuting.  The  East  was  always  to 
Bonaparte  the  scene  of  great  enterprises,  and  Egypt 
furnished  a  basis  to  his  operations,  and  at  the  same 
time,  would  serve  as  a  check  to  English  encroachment 
in  the  Indies. 

While  Russia,  Austria,  and  Prussia,  were  stripping 
Poland  ;  and  England  wfis  extending  her  conquests  in 
the  Indies — cumbering  its  burning  plains  with  tens  of 
thousands  of  its  own  children,  and  carrying  out  the 
most  iniquitous  system  of  oppression  towards  Ire- 
land ever  tolerated  by  a  civilized  people — it  does  seem 
ludicrous  to  hear  her  historians  complimenting  the 
Deity  on  his  even-handed  justice,  in  finally  arresting 
the  cruel  ambition  of  Bonaparte  and  of  France. 

While  the  expedition  to  Egypt  was  experiencing 
the  vicissitudes  that  characterized  it,  Austria,  see- 
ing that  France  had  got  the  Lion's  share  in  Italy: 
joined  with  Naples,  and  again  commenced  hostiii- 


NA.TOLEON     BOJSTAPAKTE.  23 

ties.  The  French  were  driven  back  across  the 
Apennines,  and  all  the  advantages  gained  there 
over  Austria,  were  being  lost,  when  Bonaparte  re- 
turned in  haste  from  Egypt — overthrew  the  imbe- 
cile Directory — was  proclaimed  First  Consul — and 
immediately  set  about  the  restoration  of  France. 
The  consolidation  of  the  government — the  restora- 
tion of  the  disordered  finances — the  pacification  of 
La  Vendee — the  formation  and  adoption  of  a  con- 
stitution, engrossed  his  mind,  and  he  most  ardently 
desired  peace.  He,  therefore,  the  moment  he  was 
elected  First  Consul,  wrote  with  his  own  hands, 
two  letters;  one  to  the  king  of  England,  and  the 
other  to  the  Emperor  of  Germany ;  hoping  by  this 
frank  and  friendly  course  to  appease  the  two 
governments,  and  bring  about  a  general  peace.  He 
had  acquired  sufficient  glory  as  a  military  leader, 
and  he  now  wished  to  resuscitate  France,  and  be- 
come great  as  a  civil  ruler.  In  his  letter  to  Eng- 
land, he  uses  the  following  language: — "Must  the 
war,  Sire,  which  for  the  last  eight  years  has  de- 
vastated the  four  quarters  of  the  world,  be  eternal? 
Are  there  no  means  of  coming  to  an  understanding? 
How  can  two  of  the  most  enlightened  nations  of 
Europe,  stronger  already  and  more  powerful  than 
their  safety  or  their  independence  requires,  sacrifice 
to  ideas  of  vain-glory,  the  well-being  of  commerce 
internal  prosperity,  and  the  peace  of  families?  How 
n  it  they  do  not  feel  peace  to  be  the  first  of  necessi- 
ties as  the  first  of  glories?"  Similar  noble,  frank, 
and  manly  sentiments,  he  addressed  to  the  Emperor 
of  Germany.  There  were  no  accusations  in  these 
letters,  no  recriminations,  and  no  demands.  They 
asked  simply  for  negotiations  to  commence,  for  tho 
spirit  of  peace  to  be  exhibited,  leaving  it  to  afte? 


24  DKKIKKS    PEACE. 

efforts  to  settle  the  terms.  Austria  was  inclined  tc 
listen  to  this  appeal  from  the  First  Consul,  and  re- 
plied courteously  to  his  letter.  But  she  was  tram 
ineled  by  her  alliance  with  England,  and  refused  tc 
enter  into  negotiations  in  which  the  British  Empire 
•was  not  represented.  Pitt,  on  the  contrary,  returned 
an  insulting  letter  to  the  French  minister — heaped 
every  accusation  on  Bonaparte — recapitulated  indi- 
vidual acts  of  violence,  and  laid  them  at  the  door 
of  the  French  Republic,  and  charged  it  with  de- 
signing to  overthrow  both  religion  and  monarchy 
throughout  the  continent.  He  declared  that  the 
English  government  must  see  some  fruits  of  re- 
pentance and  amendment,  before  it  could  trust  ti.e 
proffers  of  peace ;  and  that  the  restoration  of  the 
Bourbon  throne,  was  the  only  guarantee  she  should 
deem  sufficient  of  the  good  behaviour  of  the  French 
government.  Bonaparte,  in  reply,  fixed  the  first 
aggressive  acts  clearly  on  the  enemies  of  France,  and 
then  asked  what  was  the  use  of  these  irritating  remi- 
niscences— if  the  war  was  to  be  eternal,  because  ono 
or  the  other  party  had  been  the  aggressor ;  and  then 
adverting  to  the  proposal  that  the  Bourbons  should 
be  restored,  asked,  "What  would  be  thought  of 
France,  if,  in  her  propositions,  she  insisted  on  the  re- 
storation of  the  dethroned  Stuarts,  before  she  would 
make  peace?"  This  home-thrust  disconcerted  the 
English  Minister;  and  in  reply,  he  frankly  acknowl- 
edged that  his  government  did  not  wage  war  for  tho 
re-establishment  of  the  Bourbon  throne,  but  for  the 
security  of  all  "governments,  and  that  she  would  listen 
to  no  terms  of  peace  until  this  security  was  obtained. 
This  settled  the  question.  England  would  have  no 
peace  while  France  continued  to  be  a  republic.  Bona- 
parte had  foreseen  all  this,  and  finding  he  couH 


NAPOLEON      BONAPARTE.  25 

not  separate  Austria  from  her  English  alliance,  imme- 
diately set  on  foot  immense  preparations  for  war.  Mo- 
reau  was  sent  with  a  magnificent  army  into  Swabia,  tc 
drive  back  the  Austrians  towards  their  capital ;  Mas- 
sena  was  appointed  over  the  miserably  provided  army 
of  Italy,  while  he  himself  fell  from  the  heights  of  San 
Bernard,  on  the  plains  of  Lombardy. 

At  the  fierce  fought  battle  of  Marengo,  he  recon* 
quered  Italy,  while  Moreau  chased  the  vanquished 
Austrians  over  the  Danube.  Victory  every  where 
perched  on  the  French  standards,  and  Austria  was  ready 
to  agree  to  an  armistice,  in  order  to  recover  from  the 
disasters  she  had  suffered.  The  slain  at  Montibello, 
around  Genoa,  on  the  plains  of  Marengo,  in  the  Black 
Forest,  and  along  the  Danube,  are  to  be  charged  over  to 
the  British  government,  which  refused  peace  in  order 
*o  fight  for  the  philanthropic  purpose  of  giving  security 
to  governments. 

Austria,  though  crippled,  let  the  armistice  wear  away, 
refusing  to  make  a  treaty  because  she  was  bound  for 
seven  months  longer  to  England.  Bonaparte,  in  the 
meantime,  was  preparing  to  recommence  hostilities. 
Finding  himself  unable  to  conclude  a  peace,  he  opened 
the  campaign  of  Hohenlinden,  and  sent  Macdonald 
across  the  Splugen.  Moreau's  victorious  march  through 
Austria,  and  the  success  of  the  operations  in  Italy,  soon 
brought  Austria  to  terms,  and  the  celebrated  peace  of 
I/meville,  of  1801,  was  signed. 

The  energy  and  ability,  and  above  all,  the  success 
of  the  First  Consul,  had  now  forced  the  continental 
powers  to  regard  him  with  respect5  and  in  some  cases 
with  sympathy ;  while  England,  by  her  imperious  de- 
mands, had  embroiled  herself  with  all  the  northern 
powers  yf  Europe. 


26  PEACEOFAMtENS. 

15 ut  this  universal  and  wasting  war  begun  at  length 
to  be  tiresome  to  all  parties,  and  after  much  negotiation 
and  delay,  a  general  peace  was  concluded  at  Amiens, 
and  the  world  was  at  rest.  Universal  joy  was  spread 
through  France  and  England,  and  the  transports  of  the 
people  knew  no  bounds. 

Peace,  which  Bonaparte  needed  and  wished  for, 
being  restored,  he  applied  his  vast  energies  to  the 
development  of  the  resources  of  France,  and  to  the 
building  of  stupendous  public  works.  Commerce  was 
revived — the  laws  administered  with  energy — order 
restored,  and  the  blessings  of  peace  were  fast  healing 
up  the  wounds  of  war.  Men  were  amazed  at  the 
untiring  energy,  and  the  amazing  plans  of  Bonaparte. 
His  genius  gave  a  new  birth  to  the  nation — developed 
aew  elements  of  strength,  and  imparted  an  impulse  to 
her  growth  that  threatened  to  outstrip  the  greatness 
of  England.  His  ambition  was  to  obtain  colonial 
possessions,  like  those  of  England ;  and  if  allowed 
to  direct  his  vast  energies  in  that  direction,  there  was 
no  doubt  France  would  soon  rival  the  British  Empire 
in  its  provinces.  England  was  at  first  fearful  of  the 
influence  of  the  French  Republic,  but  now  a  new 
cause  of  alarm  seized  her.  It  was  evident  that  France 
was  fast  tending  towards  a  monarchy.  Bonaparte 
had  been  made  First  Consul  for  life,  with  the  power 
to  appoint  his  successor ;  and  it  required  no  seer  to 
predict  that  his  gigantic  mind  and  dictatorial  spirit, 
would  not  long  brook  any  check  from  inferior  au- 
thority. From  the  very  superiority  of  his  intellect,  he 
must  merge  every  thing  into  his  majestic  plans,  and 
gradually  acquire  more  and  more  control,  till  the 
placing  of  a  crown  on  his  head  would  be  only  the 
symbol  of  that  supreme  power  which  had  long  before 
passed  into  his  hands.  England,  therefore,  had  no 


NAPOLEON     BONAPAKTE.  21 

longer  to  fear  the  influence  of  a  Republic,  and  hence 
fight  for  the  security  of  government  in  general.  She 
had,  however,  another  cause  of  anxiety — the  too 
rapid  growth  of  her  ancient  rival.  She  became  alarm- 
ed at  the  strides  with  which  France  advanced  undei 
the  guiding  genius  of  Napoleon,  and  refused  to  carry 
out  the  terms  of  the  solemn  treaty  she  had  herseli 
signed.  In  that  treaty  it  was  expressly  stipulated 
that  England  should  evacuate  Egypt  and  Malta ; 
while  France,  on  her  part,  was  to  evacuate  Naples, 
Tarento,  and  the  Roman  States.  His  part  of  the 
treaty,  Napoleon  had  fulfilled  within  two  months  after 
its  completion ;  but  ten  months  had  now  elapsed,  and 
the  English  were  still  in  Alexandria  and  Malta.  But 
Napoleon,  anxious  to  preserve  peace,  did  not  see  fit  to 
urge  matters,  and  made  no  complaint  till  it  was  sud- 
denly announced  that  the  English  government  had 
proclaimed  her  determination  not  to  fulfil  the  stipu 
lations  she  had  herself  made.  The  only  pretext  offer 
ed  for  this  violation  of  a  solemn  contract,  was  her 
suspicions  that  France  had  designs  on  these  places 
The  truth  was,  England — with  her  accustomec 
jealousy  of  other  nations  acquiring  colonial  posses- 
sions, and  remembering  what  a  struggle  it  had  just 
cost  her  to  wrrest  Egypt  and  Malta  from  France — re- 
solved, though  in  violation  of  her  own  treaty,  not  to 
give  them  up.  Talleyrand  was  perfectly  amazed  at 
this  decision  of  the  British  ministry,  while  Napoleon 
was  thrown  into  a  transport  of  rage.  His  keen 
penetration  discerned  at  a  glance  the  policy  of  Eng 
land,  and  the  dreadful  conflict  that  must  ensue.  He 
saw  that  she  was  resolved  to  resist  the  advancement 
of  France,  and  to  band,  while  she  could,  the  powers 
of  Europe  against  her.  He  knew  that  if  she  would 
remain  at  peace,  he  could  by  force  of  arms,  and 


28  PERFIDY     OF     ENGLAND. 

diplomatic  skill,  compel  Russia,  Austria,  Prussia,  and 
Spain,  to  let  him  alone  to  cany  out  his  plans  for  the 
aggrandizement  of  France.  But  with  England  con- 
stantly counteracting  him,  and  throwing  lire-brands 
in  the  cabinets  of  the  Continent,  he  would  be  engaged 
in  perpetual  conflicts  and  wranglings.  It  had,  there- 
Joi'e,  come  to  this:  England  must  be  chastised  into 
quietness  and  respect  for  treaties,  or  there  was  to  be 
continual  war  till  France  should  yield  to  the  strength 
of  superior  numbers.  England  knew  that  in  a  pro- 
tracted war  France  must  fall  ;  for  her  very  victories 
would  in  the  end  melt  away  her  armies,  before  the 
endless  thousands  all  Europe  could  pour  upon  her; 
and  this  she  determined  to  accomplish.  But  war  at 
this  time  was  the  last  thing  Napoleon  wished — it  in- 
terfered with  his  plans,  and  cut  short  his  vast  pro- 
jects. Besides  lie  had  won  all  the  military  renown 
he  wished  in  lighting  with  the  rotten  monarchies 
that  surrounded  him,  and  his  genius  sought  a  wider 
field  in  which  to  display  itself.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
the  greatest  reluctance  he  would  entertain  the  idea 
of  a  rupture.  He  sent  for  Lord  Whitworth,  the  Eng- 
lish minister  at  Paris,  and  had  a  long  personal  con- 
versation with  him.  He  recapitulated  the  constant 
and  unprovoked  aggressions  of  his  government  on 
France,  ever  since  the  revolution — spoke  of  his  ar- 
dent wish  to  live  on  terms  of  amity — "  But,"  said 
he,  "  Malta  must  be  evacuated  :  for  although  it  is  ol 
no  great  value  in  a  maritime  point  of  view,  it  is  of  im- 
mense importance  as  connected  with  a  sacred  treaty 
and  with  the  honor  of  France ;"  "  For,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  what  would  the  world  say,  if  we  should  allo^' 
a  solemn  treaty  to  be  violated  ?"  He  asked  the  nation 
to  act  frankly  and  honestly  towards  him,  and  ha 


NAl>OLEON     BONAPARTE.  29 

would  act  equally  so  towards  it.  "  If  you  doubt  my 
sincerity,"  said  he,  "  look  at  the  power  and  renown  to 
which  I  have  attained.  Do  you  suppose  I  wish  to 
hazard  it  all  in  a  desperate  conflict?"  The  English 
government  then  endeavoured  to  negotiate  with  him 
to  let  it  retain  Malta.  "The  treaty  of  Amiens,"  he 
replied,  "and  nothing  but  the  treaty!"  Placed 
in  this  dilemma,  England  was  compelled  to  do  two 
things  at  once  ;  first,  violate  a  treaty  of  her  own 
making  ;  and  second,  to  take  upon  herself  in  doing 
it,  the  responsibility  of  convulsing  Europe,  and  bring 
ing  back  all  the  horrors  of  the  war  that  had  just 
closed.  Napoleon  was  right,  and  England  was 
wrong,  totally  wrong ;  and  if  the  violation  of  a  solemn 
treaty  is  a  just  cause  for  war,  then  is  he  justifiable. 
From  the  objects  of  peace  which  had  filled  his  mind, 
Bonaparte  immediately  strung  his  vast  energies  for 
the  fearful  encounter  that  was  approaching.  Hosti- 
lities commenced,  and  Napoleon  resolved  at  once  to 
invade  England,  and  strike  a  deadly  blow  at  the  head 
of  his  perfidious  enemy,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  He 
collected  an  enormous  flotilla  at  Boulogne ;  and  the 
French  coast,  that  looks  towards  the  English  isle, 
was  alive  with  armies  and  boats,  and  rung  with  the 
artizan's  hammer,  and  the  roar  of  cannon.  Nothing 
but  unforeseen  circumstances  prevented  his  carrying 
out  this  project,  which  would  have  shaken  the  British 
throne  to  its  foundations. 

England  drew  Russia  first  into  this  new  alliance, 
the  basis  of  which  was,  first  to  reduce  France  to  her 
limits  before  the  Revolution  ;  and  second,  to  secure 
the  peace  and  stability  of  the  European  states.  Look 
for  a  moment  at  this  perfidious  policy — this  mockery 

of  virtue — this  philanthropic  villany.     Russia,   snnd 

2* 


30        POLICY     OF     ENGLAND     AND     RUSSIA. 

ered  so  far  from  France,  was  in  peaceable  possessioi 
of  all  her  territory — had  not  a  right  to  maintain,  noi 
a  wrong  to  redress.  England,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
no  province  to  wrest  back  from  the  enemy — no  viola- 
ted treaty  to  defend — no  encroachment  to  resist. 
Their  removal  from  the  theatre  of  war  rendered  then) 
secure  ;  and  whose  peace  and  stability  wrere  they  to 
maintain?  They  anticipated  no  danger  to  them 
selves.  Italy  preferred  the  French  domination  to  the 
Austrian,  for  it  gave  greater  liberty  and  prosperity 
Austria  did  not  ask  to  be  propped  up,  for  she  had 
had  enough  of  those  alliances  which  made  her  own 
plains  the  field  of  combat ;  and  it  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  she  could  be  brought  into  the 
confederacy,  and  not  till  her  possessions  in  Italy, 
which  she  had  ceded  to  France,  was  offered  as  a 
bribe  for  her  co-operation.  Prussia  resolutely  refused 
to  enter  the  alliance,  and  at  length  sided  with  France. 
Russia,  Austria,  England,  and  Sweden,  finally  co- . 
alesced,  and  convulsed  Europe,  and  deluged  it  in 
blood,  to  furnish  security  to  those  who  had  not  asked 
their  interference.  From  this  moment  Napoleon  saw 
that  either  Russia  or  England  must  be  humbled,  or 
there  could  be  no  peace  to  Europe,  no  security  to 
France.  This  accounts  for  his  projected  descent  on 
England,  and  after  desperate  invasion  of  Russia. 

In  the  opening  of  the  campaign  of  1805  that  fol- 
lowed, so  glorious  to  the  French  arms,  the  real  de- 
sires of  Napoleon  are  made  apparent.  Mack  had 
surrendered  Ulm,  and  with  it  thirty  thousand 
soldiers,  and  as  the  captive  army  defiled  before 
Bonaparte,  he  addressed  them  in  the  following  re- 
markable language  :  "  Gentlemen,  war  has  itr 
chances.  Often  victorious,  you  must  expect  some 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  81 

times  to  be  vanquished.  Your  master  wages 
against  me  an  unjust  war.  /  say  it  candidly,  1 
know  not  for  what  I  am  fighting.  I  know  not 
what  he  desires  of  me.  He  has  wished  to  remind 
me  that  I  was  a  soldier.  I  trust  he  will  find  that  I 
have  not  forgotten  my  original  avocation.  I  will, 
however,  give  one  piece  of  advice  to  my  brother, 
the  Emperor  of  Germany.  Let  him  hasten  to  make 
peace.  This  is  the  moment  to  remember  that  there 
are  limits  to  all  empires,  however  powerful.  I  want 
nothing  on  the,  Continent.  It  is  ships,  colonies  that 
I  desire."  This  is  the  language  of  him  who  is  called 
the  desolator  of  Europe,  in  the  moment  of  victory. 
It  was  true,  he  did  not  know  for  what  he  was  fight- 
ing; he  was  forced  into  it.  It  was  equally  true, 
that  he  wished  for  nothing  on  the  Continent.  He 
emulated  England  in  her  course  of  greatness,  and  he 
was  perfectly  willing  the  despots  of  Europe  should 
sit  in  quietness  on  their  crazy  thrones.  Eor  tho 
slam  left  on  the  plains  of  Italy,  as  Massena  swept 
the  enemy  from  its  borders — for  the  tens  of  thou- 
sands strewn  on  the  bloody  field  of  Austerlitz — 
who  is  chargeable?  Not  Napoleon — not  France. — 
Here  is  a  third  sanguinary  war  waged,  filling  Eu- 
rope with  consternation  and  the  clangour  of  arms 
— her  hospitals  with  wounded,  and  her  villages  with 
mourning,  and  her  valleys  and  hills  with  her  slain 
children — and  the  guilt  of  the  whole  is  charged  over 
to  Napoleon's  ambition,  while  he  never  went  into  a 
war  more  reluctantly,  or  with  justice  more  clearly  on 
his  side.  Mr.  Alison,  who  certainly  will  not  be  ac- 
cused of  favoring  too  much  the  French  view  of  the 
matter,  nor  too  eager  to  load  England  with  crime,  is 
nevertheless  compelled  to  hold  the  following  remark- 


32  CAUSES    OF    WAR. 

able  language  respecting  this  war:  "In  coolly  re 
viewing  the  circumstances  under  which  this  contest 
wsis  renewed,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the  British 
government  manifested  a  feverish  anxiety  to  come  to 
a  rupture,  and  that  so  far  as  the  two  countries  were 
concerned,  they  loere  the  aggressors"  And  yet  at 
the  opening  of  the  campaign  of  Austerlitz,  lie  indul- 
ges in  a  long  homily  on  the  ambition  of  Napoleon — • 
his  thirst  of  glory,  and  the  love  of  conquest  which 
had  seized  the  French  nation.  And  these  are  the 
works  we  place  in  our  libraries  as  histories. 

I  do  not  design  to  follow  out  the  subsequent  trea- 
ties to  show  who  were  the  aggressors.  Russia  and 
England  determined  never  to  depart  from  the  basis 
of  their  alliance  till  they  had  effected  the  overthrow 
af  Napoleon ;  while  he  saw  that  the  humiliation  oi 
one  or  the  other  of  these  great  powers  was  indispen- 
sable to  the  preservation  of  his  possessions  and  his 
throne.  Conquests  alone  could  produce  peace ;  and 
the  war  became  one  of  extermination  on  the  one  side, 
and  of  vengeance  and  fierce  retaliation  on  the  other. 
Napoleon  felt  that  he  was  to  be  treated  without  mercy 
or  faith,  unless  he  surrendered  France  into  the  hands 
of  the  despots  of  Europe,  to  be  disposed  of  as  they 
should  think  necessary  for  their  own  security,  and 
the  stability  of  the  feudal  system,  on  which  their 
thrones  wer-o  based.  That  after  this  he  should  wage 
war  with  a  desperation  and  violence  that  made  Europe 
tremble,  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  But  up  to  the 
peace  of  Tilsit,  he  and  France  are  free  from  the  guilt 
of  the  carnage  that  made  the  plains  of  Europe  one  vast 
Golgotha. 

Some  time  after  this  assertion  was  written  down,  I 
had  occasion  to  refer  to  Napier's  Peninsular  War  fof 


NAPOLEON     BONAPAKTE.  33 

some  historical  fact,  and  fell  upon  the  following  state- 
ment, which,  coming  as  it  does,  from  an  Englishman, 
and  one  of  such  high  authority  in  military  matters, 
I  am  induced  to  quote  :  "  Up  to  the  peace  of  Tilsit,'' 
says  Napier,  "  the  wars  of  France  were  essentially 
defensive  /  for  the  bloody  contest  that  wasted  the 
Continent  s:>  many  years,  was  not  a  struggle  for  pre- 
eminence between  ambitious  powers — not  a  dispute 
for  some  accession  of  territory — nor  for  the  political 
ascendancy  of  one  or  other  nation — but  a  deadly  con- 
flict to  determine  whether  ^^stocracy  or  democracy 
should  predominate — wheth&r-  equality  or  PRIVILEGE 
should  henceforth  be  the  principle  of  European  gov- 
ernments" 

But  how  much  does  this  "  up  to  the  peace  of  Til- 
sit "  embrace  ?  First,  All  the  first  wars  of  the  French 
Republic— the  campaigns  of  1792,  '93,  '94,  and  '95— 
and  the  carnage  and  woe  that  made  up  their  history. 
Second,  Eleven  out  of  the  eighteen  years  of  Bona- 
parte's career — the  campaigns  of  1796,  in  Italy  and 
Germany — the  battles  of  Montenotte,  Millesimo,  Dego, 
Lodi,  Arcola,  Castiglione,  and  Rivoli — the  campaigns 
of  1797,  and  the  bloody  battle  fields  that  marked 
their  progress.  It  embraces  the  wars  in  Italy  and 
Switzerland,  while  Bonaparte  was  in  Egypt ;  the 
campaign  of  Marengo  and  its  carnage  ;  the  havoc 
around  and  in  Genoa  ;  the  slain  thousands  that 
strewed  the  Black  Forest  and  the  banks  of  the  Dan 
ube  where  Moreau  struggled  so  heroically  ;  the  cam 
paign  of  Hohenlinden  and  its  losses.  And  yet  this  is 
but  a  fraction  to  what  remains.  This  period  takes 
in  also  the  campaign  of  Austerlitz  and  its  bloody 
battle,  and  the  havoc  the  hand  of  war  was  making 
in  Italy, — the  campaign  of  Jena,  and  the  fierce 


34  THE    GUILTY     PA  K  1  Y  . 

conflicts  that  accompanied  it  ;  the  campaign  oJ 
Eylau,  and  the  battles  of  Pultusk,  Golymin,  Heils- 
berg,  crowned  by  the  dreadful  slaughter  of  Eylau  ; 
the  cam  aigns  of  Friedland  and  Tilsit,  and  the  mul- 
titudes they  left  on  the  plains  of  Europe.  All  these 
cerrible  campaigns,  -with  their  immense  slaughter, 
does  an  English  historian  declare  to  be  the  result  of 
a  defensive  war  on  the  part  of  France — not  merely 
a  defence  of  territory,  but  of  human  rights  against 
tyranny.  Let  republicans  ponder  this  before  they 
adopt  the  sentiments  of  prejudiced  historians,  and 
condemn  as  a  monster  the  man  who  was  toiling  over 
battle  fields  to  save  his  country  from  banded  op- 
pressors. 

That  Bonaparte  loved  dominion,  no  one  ever  doubt- 
ed ;  but  that  it  led  him  to  battle  constantly  the  allied 
Continental  powers,  is  untrue.  On  the  contrary,  Mr. 
Napier  declares  that  he  was  not  only  defending 
France  against  aggression,  but  democracy  againsl 
aristocracy — equal  rights  against  privileged  oppres- 
sion. 

Nothing  can  be  more  ludicrous  than  the  assertion 
that  Napoleon  sought  to  conquer  Europe,  and  fell  in 
carrying  out  his  insane  project.  In  youth,  as  all 
young  soldiers  are,  he  was  desirous  of  military  glory. 
His  profession  was  that  of  arms,  and  he  bent  all  his 
young  energies  to  the  task  of  excelling  in  it,  and  suc- 
ceeded. But  when  he  became  Emperor  of  France, 
he  stood  on  the  summit  of  military  renown,  and 
needed  and  sought  no  more  fame  as  a  warrior.  Ho 
was  then  ambitious  to  excel  as  a  monarch.  He  de 
signed  to  follow  in  the  steps  of  England,  and  finally 
outstrip  her  in  her  mighty  progress,  by  extending 
commerce,  and  establishing  colonies.  The  secret  <» 


NAPOIEON     BONAPARTE.  35 

the  whole  opposition  he  received  from  her  after  thcj 
Republic  had  ceased  to  exist,  sprung  from  her  know< 
ledge  of  his  policy.  The  East  was  regarded  by  him  as 
the  appropriate  theatre  for  his  ambition  ;  but  the  East, 
England  determined  no  body  should  plunder  of  its 
enormous  wealth  but  herself,  and  so  she  banded 
Europe  together  to  overthrow  him.  The  encroach- 
ments of  France  in  the  South  of  Europe  during  a 
time  of  peace  are  the  only  pretext  offered  by  the 
English  government  for  her  interference  and  aggres- 
sion. It  was  not  that  her  territory  was  invaded,  tier 
rights  assailed,  or  treaties  with  her  violated.  It  was 
simply  a  philanthropic  motive,  if  we  may  believe  her 
statements,  that  caused  her  to  whelm  Europe  in  blood. 
The  encroachments  of  France  could  not  be  allowed-- 
the  extension  of  her  empire  must  be  arrested ;  and 
yet,  since  she  violated  the  treaty  of  Amiens — broke* 
up  a  universal  peace — and  brought  on  universal  war- 
she  has  solely,  for  the  sake  of  self-aggrandizement, 
added  more  to  her  territory  in  the  Mysore,  than 
France  ever  did  to  hers,  put  all  her  conquests  toge- 
ther. ISTow  let  France  insist  that  England  shall  give 
up  these  possessions ;  and  form  an  alliance  with  Rus- 
sia, Austria,  and  Prussia,  the  basis  of  which  shall  be, 
svar  with  England,  till  she  shall  retire  to  her  original 
ooundaries  before  her  aggressions  in  the  East  com- 
menced ;  and  the  conflict  in  which  England  would  bo 
plunged,  and  the  slaughters  that  would  follow,  would 
be  charged  on  her  as  justly  as  those  which  followed 
the  rupture  of  the  peace  of  Amiens,  can  be  laid  at 
the  door  of  France.  There  is  this  difference,  how- 
ever. Franco  gained  her  possessions  in  resisting  ag- 
gressive power,  and  had  them  secured  to  her  by 
treaty,  while  her  domination  was  preferred  to  thai 


00  BIB    BOYHOOD. 

which  the  conquered  provinces  must  fall  under  should 
ehe  abandon  them.  But  England  commenced  an  nn* 
provoked  war  on  a  peaceful  people,  and  reduced  them 
to  slavery  from  no  nobler  motive  than  the  love  of  gold. 
It  is  time  that  Americans,  who  have  suffered  so  much 
from  the  imperious  policy  of  England,  and  seen  so  much 
on  our  own  shores,  of  her  grasping  spirit  after  colonial 
possessions,  should  look  on  her  conduct  subsequent  to 
the  French  Revolution,  through  other  medium  than  her 
own  literature. 

I  have  not  designed,  in  this  defence  of  Napoleon, 
and  of  France,  to  prove  that  the  former  always  acted 
justly,  or  from  the  most  worthy  motives ;  or  that  the 
Republic  never  did  wrong ;  but  to  reveal  the  princi- 
ples which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  that  protracted  war 
which  commenced  with  the  Revolution,  and  ended 
only  with  the  overthrow  of  Napoleon.  It  was  first  a 
war  of  despotism  and  monarchy  against  republican- 
ism, and  then  a  wrar  of  suspicion  and  jealousy  and 
rivalry. 

Having  thus  cleared  Napoleon  of  the  crime  of  deso- 
lating Europe  with  his  victorious  armies,  it  will  not 
be  so  difficult  to  look  with  justice  on  his  character  and 
life. 

His  boyish  actions  while  a  poor  scholar  at  Brienne, 
have  been  adduced  as  pre-shadowings  of  his  future 
career.  But  the  truth  is,  with  more  talent  than  his 
playmates — with  more  pride  and  passion — I  iiiul 
nothing  in  him  different  from  other  boys  of  his  age. 
His  solitary  walks,  and  gorgeous  dreams,  and  bril- 
liant hopes,  at  this  early  period,  belong  to  every  boy 
of  ardent  temperament,  and  a  lively  imagination.  In 
ordinary  times,  these  golden  visions  would  have  faded 
away  with  years  and  experience;  and  Napoleon  Bo 


NAPOLEON     BONAPAKTE.  31 

naparte  would  have  figured  in  the  world's  history  only 
as  a  powerful  writer,  or  a  brilliant  orator.  The  field 
which  the  Revolution  left  open  to  adventurers,  enabled 
him  to  realize  his  extravagant  hopes.  His  ambition  was 
i  necessary  result  of  his  military  education,  while  the 
means  so  unexpectedly  furnished  for  gratifying  it,  fed  it 
with  a  consuming  flame.  His  abrupt,  laconic  style  oi 
speaking  corresponded  well  with  his  impetuous  temper, 
and  evinced  at  an  early  age,  the  iron-like  nature  witli 
which  he  was  endowed. 

His  career  fairly  commenced  with  his  quelling  the 
revolt  of  the  sections.  True,  his  conduct  at  the  siege 
of  Toulon  had  caused  him  to  be  spoken  of  favorably 
as  an  under  officer,  but  it  was  with  unfeigned  sur 
prise  that  the  Abbe  Sieyes,  Rewbel,  Letourneur,  Rogei 
Ducos,  and  General  Moulins,  saw  him  introduced  to 
rhem  by  Ban-as,  as  the  commander  the  latter  had  cho- 
nen  for  the  troops  that  were  to  defend  the  convention. 
Said  General  Moulins  to  him,  "  You  are  aware  that 
it  is  only  by  the  powerful  recommendation  of  citizen 
Barras,  that  we  confide  to  you  so  important  a  post  ?" 
"I  have  not  asked  for  it,"  drily  replied  the  young 
Lieutenant,  "  and  if  I  accept  it,  it  will  be  because,\ 
after  a  close  examination,  I  am  confident  of  success.  \ 
I  am  different  from  other  men  ;  I  never  undertake/ 
any  thing  I  can  not  carry  through."  This  sally  caused' 
the  members  of  the  Convention  to  bite  their  lips,  for 
the  implied  sarcasm  stung  each  in  his  turn.  "But 
do  you  know,"  said  Rewbel,  "that  this  may  be  a  very 
serious  affair — that  the  sections  —  "Very  well," 
fiercely  interrupted  the  young  Bonaparte,  "  I  will 
make  a  serious  affair  of  it,  and  the  sections  shall  be- 
come tranquil."  He  had  seen  Louis  XYI.  put  on 

the  red  cap,  and  show  himself  from  the  palace  of  tlu 
3 


38        H  [  B     VIEWS     OF     THE     REVOLUTION. 

Tuilleries  to  the  mob,  aiid  unable  to  restrain  his  in- 
dignation at  the  sight,  exclaimed  to  his  companion, 
Bourieune,  "  What  madness !  he  should  have  blown 
four  or  five  hundred  of  them  into  the  air,  and  the  rest 
would  have  taken  to  their  heels."  Deprived  of  hia 
•^mraand,  he  had  wandered  around  Paris  during  the 
terrible  scenes  of  the  revolution,  learning  every  day 
Jessons  which  he  would  yet  have  occasion  to  improve. 
He  had  gone  so  far  as  to  dictate  a  long  and  written 
proposal  to  Monsieur,  for  the  defence  of  the  tottering 
throne,  offering  himself  as  commander  of  the  troops, 
to  be  organized  for  the  quelling  of  the  insurgents.  To 
the  proposal  of  this  unknown  individual,  no  reply 
was  deigned ;  and  the  author  of  it  soon  after  saw  the 
royal  head  roll  on  the  scaffold  ;  and  retired  to  his  bed 
sick  from  the  excitement  and  horror  of  the  spectacle. 
But  the  experience  furnished  by  these  scenes,  rendered 
him  a  fit  leader  to  the  troops  of  the  Convention ;  and 
when  on  the  mighty  populace,  and  the  headlong  ad- 
vance of  the  National  Guard,  his  artillery  loaded  to 
the  muzzle  with  g)  ape-shot,  thundered ;  he  announced 
the  manner  in  which  he  would  treat  with  a  mob 
After  this,  Barras  became  his  patron,  and  introduced 
him  to  Josephine,  and  persuaded  him  to  marry  her, 
by  offering  as  a  dowry  the  command  of  the  army  ol 
Italy. 

It  was  not  without  misgivings  that  such  Generals 
as  Massena,  Rampon,  Augereau,  and  others,  saw  a 
young  man  of  slender  frame,  but  twenty-seven  years 
old,  assume  the  command  of  the  army.  But  his  in- 
dependent manner,  firm  tone,  and  above  all,  the  sud- 
den activity  he  infused  into  every  department  by  hia 
example,  soon  gave  them  to  understand  that  it  was 
no  ordinary  leader  whose  orders  they  were  to  obey. 


NAPOLEON    BONAPAKTE.  3S 

From  this  brilliant  campaign,  he  went  up  by  rapid 
strides  to  First  Consul,  and  finally  Emperor  ot 
France. 

One  great  secret  of  his  success,  is  to  be  found  in^ 
Ihe  union  of  two  striking  qualities  of  mind,  which 
are  usually  opposed  to  each  other.  He  possessed  an 
imagination  as  ardent,  and  a  mind  as  impetuous,  as 
the  most  rash  and  chivalric  warrior;  and  yet  a  judg- 
ment as  cool  and  correct  as  the  ablest  tactician.  His 
mind  moved  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  and  yet 
with  the  precision  and  steadiness  of  naked  reason. 
He  rushed  to  his  final  decision  as  if  he  overleaped  all 
the  intermediate  space,  and  yet  he  embraced  the  entire 
ground,  and  every  detail  in  his  passage.  In  short, 
he  could  decide  quick  and  correctly  too.  He  did  not 
possess  these  antagonistic  qualities  in  a  moderate  de- 
gree, but  he  was  at  the  same  time,  the  most  rapid  and 
the  most  correct  of  men,  in  the  formation  of  his 
plans.  He  united  two  remarkable  natures  in  his  sin- 
gle person.  It  usually  happens  that  the  man  of  sage 
counsel  and  far-reaching  mind,  who  embraces  every 
detail  and  weighs  every  probability,  is  slow  in  com- 
ing to  a  decision.  On  the  other  hand,  a  mind  of  ra- 
pid decision  and  sudden  execution,  commonly  lacks 
the  power  of  combination,  and  seeing  but  one  thing 
at  a  time,  finds  itself  involved  in  plans  it  can  nei- 
ther thwart  nor  break  through.  It  was  the  union 
of  these  two  qualities  that  gare  Bonaparte  such  im- 
mense power  over  his  adversaries.  His  plans  were 
more  skillfully  and  deeply  laid  than  theirs,  and  yet 
perfected  before  theirs  were  begun.  He  broke  up  the 
counsels  of  other  men,  by  the  execution  of  his  own, 
This  power  of  thinking  quick,  and  of  thinking  right 
is  the  rarest  exhibited  in  history.  It  gives  the  posses 


40  CHARACTER     AS     A     C  O  M  M  A  N  I)  K  R  . 

EOF  of  it  all  the  advantage  that  thought  ever  has  over 
impulse,  and  all  the  advantage,  too,  that  impulse 
frequently  has  over  thought,  by  the  suddenness  and 
unexpectedness  of  its  movements. 

His  power  of  combination  was  unrivalled.  The 
most  extensive  plans,  involving  the  most  complicated 
movements  were  laid  down  with  the  clearness  of  a 
map,  in  his  mind ;  while  the  certainty  and  precision, 
with  which  they  were  all  brought  to  bear  on  one 
great  point,  took  the  ablest  Generals  in  Europe  by 
surprise.  His  mind  seemed  vast  enough  for  the 
management  of  the  globe,  and  not  so  much  encircled 
every  thing,  as  contained  every  thing.  It  was  hard 
to  tell  whether  he  exhibited  more  skill  in  conducting 
a  campaign,  or  in  managing  a  single  battle.  With  a 
power  of  generalization  seldom  equalled,  his  perceptive 
faculties,  that  let  no  detail  escape  him,  were  equally 
rare. 

As  a  military  leader,  he  has  no  superior  in  ancient 
or  modern  times.  He  marched  his  victorious  troops 
successively  into  almost  every  capital  of  Europe. 
Meeting  and  overwhelming  in  turn  the  armies  of 
Prussia,  Austria,  Russia,  and  England,  he,  for  a  long 
time,  waged  a  successful  war  against  them  all  com- 
bined ;  and  exhausted  at  last  by  his  very  victories, 
rather  than  by  their  conquests,  he  fell  before  superior 
numbers,  which  in  a  protracted  contest,  must  alwaya 
prevail.  His  first  campaign  in  Italy,  and  the  cam- 
paign of  Austerlite,  are,  perhaps,  the  most  glorious  he 
ever  conducted.  The  first  astonished  the  world,  anl 
fixed  his  fortune.  In  less  than  a  year,  he  overthrew 
four  of  the  finest  armies  of  Europe.  With  fifty-five 
thousand  men,  he  had  beaten  more  than  two  hundred 
thousand  Austrians — taken  prisoners  nearly  double 


NAPOLEON     BONAPAKTE.  4\ 

tlie  number  of  his  whole  army,  and  killed  half  as  niairy 
as  the  entire  force  he  had  at  any  one  time  in  the 
field.  The  tactics  he  adopted  in  this  campaign, 
and  which  he  never  after  departed  from,  correspond 
singularly  with  the  character  of  his  mind.  Instead 
of  following  up  what  was  considered  the  scientific 
mode  of  conducting  a  campaign  and  a  battle,  he  fell 
back  on  his  own  genius,  and  made  a  system  of  his 
\>\vn,  adapted  to  the  circumstance  in  which  he  was 
placed.  Instead  of  opposing  wing  to  wing,  centre  to 
centre,  and  column  to  column,  he  rapidly  concentrated 
his  entire  strength  on  separate  portions  in  quick  suc- 
cession. Hurling  his  combined  force  now  on  one 
wing,  and  now  another,  and  now  throwing  it  with  the 
weight  and  terror  of  an  avalanche  on  the  centre, 
he  crushed  each  in  its  turn ;  or  cutting  the  army  in 
two,  destroyed  its  communication  and  broke  it  in 
pieces.  And  this  was  the  way  his  mind  worked. 
He  concentrated  all  his  gigantic  powers  on  one  pro- 
ject at  a  time,  until  it  stood  complete  before  him,  and 
then  turned  them  unexhausted  on  another.  He  grap- 
pled with,  and  mastered  each  in  turn — penetrated  and 
dismissed  it  with  a  rapidity  that  astonished  his  most  in- 
timate friends. 

He  was  brave  as  courage  itself,  and  never  scrupled 
to  expose  his  life,  when  necessary  to  success.  The 
daring  he  exhibited  in  the  revolt  of  the  sections, 
when,  with  five  thousand  soldiers,  he  boldly  withstood 
forty  thousand  of  the  National  Guard  and  mob  oi 
Paris,  he  carried  with  him  to  his  fall.  At  the  terril  le 
passage  of  Lodi,  where,  though  General-in-Chief,  he 
was  tiie  second  man  across  the  bridge ; — at  Arcola, 
where  he  stood,  with  the  standard  in  his  hand,  in 
the  midst  of  a  perfect  tempest  of  balls  and  grape-shot' 


42  H  I  8     C  O  U  R  AGE. 

and  at  Wagrara,  where  he  rxle  on  his  white  steed, 
backward  and  forward,  for  a  whole  hour,  before  his 
shivering  lines,  to  keep  them  steady  in  the  dreadful 
fire  that  thinned  their  ranks,  and  swept  the  ground 
they  stood  upon; — lie  evinced  the  heroic  com  ago 
that  he  possessed,  and  which  was  a  part  of  his  very 
t.ature  This,  with  his  stirring  eloquence,  early  gavo 
him  great  command  over  his  soldiers.  They  loved 
him  to  the  last,  and  stood  by  the  republican  General, 
and  the  proud  Emperor,  with  equal  affection.  Bona- 
parte was  eloquence  itself.  His  proclamations  to  his 
soldiers  evince  not  only  his  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart,  but  his  power  to  move  it  at  his  will.  Whether 
causing  one  of  the  articles  in  Sieyes'  constitution  to 
be  rejected,  by  his  withering  sarcasm ;  or  rousing  hin 
soldiers  to  the  loftiest  pitch  of  enthusiasm,  by  his  irre- 
sistible appeals ;  or  carrying  away  those  conversing 
with  him,  by  his  brilliant  thoughts  and  forcible  elocu- 
tion, he  exhibits  the  highest  capacities  of  an  orator. 
His  appeals  to  the  courage  of  his  soldiers,  and  his 
distributions  of  honors,  with  so  much  pomp  and 
display,  perfectly  bewildered  and  dazzled  them,  so 
that  in  battle  it  seemed  to  be  their  only  thought  how 
they  should  exhibit  the  greatest  daring,  and  perform 
the  most  desperate  deeds.  Thus,  soon  after  the  bat- 
tle of  Castiglione,  and  just  before  the  battle  of  Rivoli, 
he  made  an  example  of  the  39th  and  85th  regiments 
of  Yaubois  Division,  for  having  given  way  to  a  panic, 
and  nearly  lost  him  the  battle.  Arranging  these  two 
regiments  in  a  circle,  he  addressed  them  in  the  fol- 
lowing language: — "Soldiers, -I  am  displeased  with 
yon — you  have  shown  neither  discipline,  nor  valour, 
nor  firmness.  You  have  allowed  yourselves  to  be 
chased  from  positions,  where  a  handful  of  brave 


K  A  I1  O  L  E  O  N     BONAPARTE.  4  ft 

cien  would  have  stopped  an  army.  Soldiers  of  the  30th 
and  85th,  you  are  no  longer  French  soldiers.  Chiei 
of  the  Staff,  let  it  be  written  on  their  standards,  '  They 
are  no  longer  of  the  army  of  Italy?  " 

Nothing  conld  exceed  the  stunning  effect  with 
which  these  words  fell  on  those  brave  men.  They 
forgot  their  discipline,  and  the  order  of  their  ranks,  and 
bursting  into  grief,  filled  the  air  with  their  cries, — and 
rushing  from  their  ranks,  crowded,  with  most  beseech- 
ing looks  and  voices  around  their  General,  and  begged 
to  be  saved  from  such  a  disgrace,  saying,  "  Lead  us 
once  more  into  battle,  and  see  if  we  are  not  of  the 
army  of  Italy."  Bonaparte  wishing  only  to  implant 
feelings  of  honour  in  his  troops,  appeared  to  re- 
lent, and  addressing  them  some  kind  words,  promised 
to  wait  to  see  how  they  should  behave.  In  a  few 
days  he  did  see  the  brave  fellows  go  into  battle,  and 
rush  on  death  as  if  going  to  a  banquet,  and  prove 
themselves,  even  in  his  estimation,  worthy  to  be  in 
the  army  of  Italy.  It  was  by  such  reproaches  for  un- 
gallant  behaviour,  and  by  rewards  for  bravery,  that 
he  instilled  a  love  of  glory  that  made  them  irresisti 
ble  in  combat.  Thus  we  see  the  Old  Guard,  dwindled 
to  a  mere  handful  in  the  fearful  retreat  from  Russia, 
close  round  him  as  they  marched  past  a  battery,  and 
amid  the  storm  of  iron  that  played  on  their  exhausted 
ranks,  sing  the  favourite  air,  "  Where  can  a  father  be 
so  well,  as  in  the  bosom  of  his  family."  So,  als 
just  before  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  in  his  address  to 
the  soldiers,  he  promised  them  he  would  keep  out  oi 
danger  if  they  behaved  bravely,  and  burst  through 
the  enemy's  ranks;  but  if  they  did  not,  he  should 
himself  rush  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight.  There 
could  not  be  a  stronger  evidence  of  love  and  confi 


44  CAUSES     OF     HIS     8UOCE88. 

dence  between  soldier  and  General,  than  was  evinced 
by  this  speech,  made  on  tl.e  commencement  of  one  oi 
the  greatest  battles  of  his  life. 

Another  cause  of  his  wonderful  success  was  his 
untiring  activity  of  both  mind  and  body.  No  victory 
lulled  him  into  a  moment's  repose — no  luxuries  tempt- 
ed him  to  ease — and  no  successes  bounded  his  im- 
petuous desires.  Labouring  with  an  intensity  and 
rapidity  that  accomplished  the  work  of  days  in  hours, 
he  nevertheless  seemed  crowded  to  the  very  limit  ol 
human  capacity  by  the  vast  plans  and  endless  pro- 
jects that  asked  and  received  his  attention.  In  the 
cabinet  he  astonished  every  one  by  his  striking 
thoughts  and  indefatigable  industry.  The  forms  and 
ceremonies  of  court  could  keep  his  mind,  hardly  for 
an  hour,  from  the  labour  which  he  seemed  to  covet. 
He  allowed  himself  usually  but  four  or  five  hours 
rest,  and  during  his  campaigns,  exhibited  the  same 
almost  miraculous  activity  of  mind.  He  would  dic- 
tate to  one  set  of  secretaries  all  day,  and  after  he  had 
tired  them  out,  call  for  a  second,  and  keep  them  on 
the  stretch  all  night,  snatching  but  a  brief  repose 
during  the  whole  time.  His  common  practice  was  to 
rise  at  two  in  the  morning,  and  dictate  to  his  secre- 
taries for  two  hours,  then  devote  two  hours  more 
to  thought  alone,  when  he  would  take  a  warm  bath 
and  dress  for  the  day.  But  in  a  pressure  of  busiiiobH 
this  division  of  labour  and  rest  was  scattered  to  the 
winds,  and  he  would  work  all  night.  With  his  night- 
gown wrapped  around  him,  and  a  silk  handkerchief 
tied  about  his  head,  he  would  walk  backwards  and 
forwards  in  his  apartment  from  dark  till  daylight,  die 
tating  to  Gaulincourt,  or  Duroc,  or  D'  Albe  his  ehiel 
secretary,  in  his  impetuous  manner,  which  required 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  43 


the  highest  exertion  to  keep  pace  with  ;  while 
tan,  his  faithful  Mameluke,  whom  he  brought  from 
Egypt,  was  up  also,  bringing  him,  from  time  to  time, 
a  strong  cup  of  coffee  to  refresh  him.  Sometimes  at 
midnight,  when  all  was  still,  this  restless  spirit  would 
call  out  "  Call  D'Albe  :  let  every  one  arise  :"  and 
then  commence  working,  allowing  himself  no  inter- 
mission or  repose  till  sunrise.  He  has  been  known 
to  dictate  to  three  secretaries  at  the  same  time,  sc 
rapid  were  the  movements  of  his  mind,  and  yet  sc 
perfectly  under  his  control.  He  never  deferred  busi- 
ness for  an  hour,  but  did  on  the  spot  what  then  claim 
ed  his  attention.  Nothing  but  the  most  iron-like  con- 
stitution could  have  withstood  these  tremendous 
strains  upon  it.  And,  as  if  Nature  had  determined 
that  nothing  should  be  wanting  to  the  full  develop- 
ment of  this  wTonderful  man,  as  well  as  no  resources 
withheld  from  his  gigantic  plans,  she  had  endowed  him 
with  a  power  of  endurance  seldom  equalled.  It  was 
not  till  after  the  most  intense  and  protracted  mental 
and  physical  effort  combined,  that  he  gave  intima- 
tions of  being  sensible  to  fatigue.  In  his  iirst  cam 
paigu  in  Italy,  though  slender  and  apparently  weak, 
he  rode  five  horses  to  death  in  a  few  days,  and  for  six 
days  and  nights,  never  took  off  his  boots,  or  retired  to 
his  couch.  He  toiled  over  the  burning  sands  ol 
Egypt,  and  through  the  snow  drifts  of  Russia,  with 
equal  impunity  —  spurring  his  panting  steed  through 
the  scorching  sun-beams  ol  Africa,  and  forcing  his 
way  on  foot,  with  a  birchen  stick  in  his  hand,  over 
the  icy  path,  as  he  fled  from  Moscow  with  the  same 
tirm  presence.  He  would  sleep  in  the  palace  of  the 
Tuileries,  or  on  the  shore  of  the  swollen  Danube, 

with    nought    but    his   cloak    about   him,   while   the 
3* 


4-  fl  J  8     8ELF-BKLIANCE. 

groaiis  of  the  dying  loaded  the  midnight  air:  witL 
equal  soundness.  He  was  often  on  horseback  eigu 
teen  hours  a  day,  and  yet  wrought  up  to  the  intcnsest 
mental  excitement  all  the  while.  Marching  till  mid- 
night, he  would  array  his  troops  by  moonlight ;  and 
fighting  all  day,  be  hailed  victor  at  night ;  and  then, 
without  rest,  travel  all  the  following  night  and  day, 
and  the  next  morning  fight  another  battle,  and  be  a 
second  time  victorious.  He  is  often  spoken  of  as  a 
mere  child  of  fortune;  but  whoever  in  this  world  will 
possess  such  powers  of  mind,  and  use  them  with  equal 
skill  and  industry,  and  has  a  frame  to  stand  it, 
will  always  be  a  child  of  fortune.  He  allowed 
nothing  to  escape  his  ubiquitous  spirit ;  and  whether 
two  or  five  campaigns  were  going  on  in  different 
kingdoms  at  the  same  time,  they  were  equally  under 
his  control,  and  their  result  calculated  with  wonder- 
ful precision. 

Another  striking  characteristic  of  Napoleon,  and 
which  contributed  much  to  his  success,  was  self-con 
fidence.  He  fell  back  on  himself  in  every  emergency, 
with  a  faith  that  was  sublime.  Where  other  men 
sought  counsel,  he  communed  with  himself  alone ; 
and  where  Kings  and  Emperors  called  anxiously  on 
the  statesmen  and  chieftains  around  their  thrones  for 
help,  he  summoned  to  his  aid  his  own  mighty  genius. 
This  did  not  result  from  vanity  and  conceit,  but  from 
the  consciousness  of  power.  He  not  only  took  the 
measure  and  capabilities  of  every  man  that  ap- 
proached him,  but  he  knew  he  saw  beyond  theii 
farthest  vision,  and  hence  could  not  but  rely  on  him- 
eelf,  instead  of  others. 

This  self-confidence,  which  in  other  men  would 
have  been  downright  madness,  in  him  was  wisdom. 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE  47 

It  was  the  first  striking  trait  in  his  character  he  ex- 
hibited. At  the  siege  of  Toulon,  a  mere  boy,  lie 
curled  .his  lip  at  the  science  of  the  oldest  Generals  in 
the  army,  and  offered  his  own  plan  for  the  reduc- 
tion of  the  town,  with  an  assurance  that  astonished 
them.  In  quelling  the  revolt  of  the  sections,  this 
Sublime  self-reliance  utterly  confounded  the  heads  of 
the  Convention.  If  it  had  ended  here,  it  might  have 
been  called  the  rashness  and  ardour  of  youth,  crowned 
with  unexpected  success.  But  throughout  his  after 
career ;  in  those  long  protracted  efforts,  in  which  in- 
tellect and  genius  always  triumph ;  we  ever  tind  him 
standing  alone,  calling  none  but  himself  to  his  aid. 
Inexperienced  and  young,  he  took  command  of  the 
weak  and  ill-conditioned  army  of  Italy,  and  instead 
of  seeking  the  advice  of  his  government  and  his 
Generals,  so  that  he  might  be  screened  in  case  of  de- 
feat, where  defeat  seemed  inevitable;  he  seemed  to 
exult  that  he  was  at  last  alone,  and  almost  to  forget 
the  danger  that  surrounded  him,  in  his  joy  at  having 
a  free  and  open  field  for  his  daring  spirit.  His  fame 
and  after  fortune,  all  rested  on  his  success  and  con- 
duct in  this  outset  of  his  career ;  yet  he  voluntarily 
placed  himself  in  a  position  where  the  result,  how- 
ever disastrous  it  might  be,  would  be  chargeable  on 
him  alone.  He  flung  the  military  tactics  of  Europe 
to  the  winds,  and  with  his  little  band  around  him. 
spurned  both  the  science  and  the  numbers  arrayed 
against  him. 

With  the  same  easy  confidence  he  vaulted  to  the 
throne  of  France,  and  felt  an  empire  rest  on  his 
shoulders,  apparently  un  conscious  of  the  weight.  He 
looked  on  the  revolutionary  agitation,  the  prostration 
and  confusion  of  his  kingdom  without  alarm  ;  and  his 


18  HIS     TREATMENT     OF     K  I  N  O  8  . 

eagle  glance  pierced  at  once  the  length,  and  breadth 
and  depth,  and  height,  of  the  chaos  that  suriounded 
him.  Yet,  so  natural  does  he  seem  in  this  position, 
that  instead  of  trembling  for  his  safety  we  find  our 
selves  inspired  by  the  same  confidence  that  sustained 
him,  and  expecting  great  and  glorious  results.  Ho 
seems  equal  to  any  thing,  and  acts  as  if  he  himscli 
was  conscious  he  was  a  match  for  the  world.  Stern, 
decided,  plain,  he  speaks  to  the  King  of  England,  the 
Emperor  of  Russia,  of  Austria,  and  to  all  Europe  in 
the  language  of  a  superior,  rather  than  of  an  equal. 
Angry,  yet  alarmed  at  the  haughty  tone  of  this  ple- 
beian King,  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe  gathered 
hastily  together,  to  consult  what  they  should  do. 
In  the  same  quiet  confidence  with  which  he  saw  the 
mob  advancing  on  his  batteries  in  the  garden  of  the 
Tuileries,  he  beheld  their  banded  armies  move  down 
on  his  throne.  This  single  man — this  plebeian,  stood 
up  amid  the  monarchies  of  Europe,  and  bending  his 
imperial  frown  on  the  faithless  kings  that  surrounded 
him,  smote  their  royal  foreheads  with  blow  after 
blow,  till  the  world  stood  aghast  at  his  presumption 
and  audacity.  Their  scorn  of  his  plebeian  blood  gave 
way  to  consternation,  as  they  saw  him  dictating 
terms  to  them  in  their  own  capitals;  while  the  free- 
dom with  which  he  put  his  haughty  foot  on  their 
pacred  majesties,  filled  the  bosoms  of  'heir  courtierd 
with  horror.  He  wheeled  his  cannon  around  their 
thrones,  with  a  coolness  and  inflexibility  of  purpose 
that  made  "  the  dignity  which  doth  hedge  a  king,"  a 
most  pitiful  thing  to  behold.  He  swept,  with  his 
fierce  chariot,  through  their  ancient  dynasties,  crush- 
ing them  out  as  if  they  had  been  bubbles  in  his  path  ; 
then  proudly  pausing,  let  them  gather  up  their  crowns 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  49 

again.  While  astonished  at  the  boldness  of  his  irrup. 
Lion  into  Egypt,  they  were  listening  to  hear  again  the 
thunder  of  his  guns  around  the  pyramids,  they  sud 
denly  saw  his  mighty  army  hanging  along  the  crest 
of  the  Alps;  and  before  the  astonishing  vision  had 
fairly  disappeared,  the  sound  of  his  cannon  wag 
heard  shaking  the  shores  of  the  Danube,  and  his  vic- 
torious eagles  were  waving  their  wings  over  the  cap* 
ital  of  the  Austrian  Empire.  One  moment  his  terri- 
ble standards  would  be  seen  along  the  shores  of  the 
Ilhine;  the  next,  by  the  banks  of  the  Borysthenes, 
and  then  again  fluttering  amid  the  flames  of  Mos- 
cow. Europe  never  had  such  a  wild  waking  up  be- 
fore, and  the  name  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  became  a 
spell  word,  with  which  to  conjure  up  horrible  shapes 
of  evil.  Victory  deserted  the  standards  of  the  enemy 
the  moment  that  the  presence  of  Napoleon  among  his 
legions  was  announced  in  their  camp,  and  when  it 
was  whispered  through  the  ranks  that  his  eye  was 
sweeping  the  battle  field,  the  arm  of  the  foeman 
waxed  weak,  and  he  conquered  as  much  by  his  name 
as  by  his  armies.  This  boldness  of  movement,  giving 
him  such  immense  moral  power,  arose  from  his  con- 
fidence in  himself.  Even  where  his  plans  seemed  mad- 
ness and  folly,  so  confidently  did  he  carry  them  on, 
that  men  believed  he  saw  resources  of  which  they  were 
ignorant,  and  hence  their  course  became  cautious  and 
wavering  ;  and  defeat  certain. 

Nothing  can  be  more  sublime  than  this  self-reliance 
of  Napoleon,  in  the  midst  of  a  world  in  arms  against 
him.  It  is  the  confidence  of  genius  and  intellect,  ar- 
rayed against  imbecility  and  fear.  That  no  hesita- 
tion should  mark  his  course,  amid  the  complicated 
affairs  he  was  compelled  to  move — no  vacillation  oi 


50  HIS     IMPETUOSITY. 

that  iron  will  be  seen,  when  every  thing  else  shoots 
about  him,  is  indeed  a  marvel.  The  energy  of  a  single 
soul,  poised  on  its  own  great  centre,  gathering  around 
it,  as  by  sympathy,  the  mightiest  spirits  of  the  age,  and 
crushing  under  it  obstacles  that  before  seemed  insur- 
mountable, has  had  no  such  exhibitions  since  the  time 
of  Caesar. 

But  with  all  Napoleon's  cool  judgment,  and  self- 
confidence,  there  was  not  a  Marshal  in  the  army  of  so 
impetuous  and  impatient  a  temper,  as  he.  He  settled 
every  plan  in  his  own  mind,  with  the  precision  of  a 
mathematical  problem ;  and  if  any  unforeseen  obstacle 
interposed,  threatening  to  change  the  result,  he  be- 
came furious  with  excitement,  acting  and  talking 
as  if  he  thought  it  to  be  a  violation  of  reason 
and  justice.  He  planned  with  so  much  skill,  and  calcu- 
lated results  with  so  much  precision,  that  if  he 
did  not  succeed,  he  felt  there  must  be  blame,  shame- 
ful neglect  somewhere.  From  his  youth  up  he  nevei 
could  brook  contradiction,  and  drove  with  such  head- 
long speed  towards  the  object  he  was  after,  that  he 
frequently  secured  it  through  the  surprise  and  con- 
sternation occasioned  by  the  desperation  that  marked 
his  progress.  In  the  cabinet  and  in  the  field,  he  ex- 
hibited the  same  restless  fever  of  mind,  and  seemed 
really  to  suffer  from  the  strong  restraints  his  despotic 
judgment  placed  over  his  actions.  It  was  impossible 
for  him  to  keep  still ;  and  the  most  headlong  speed  in 
travelling,  did  not  seem  rapid  enough  for  his  eager 
spirit.  Bad  rider  as  he  was,  he  delighted  in  spurring 
over  fences  and  chasms,  where  his  boldest  riders  had 
gone  down ;  but  even  when  sweeping  over  a  field  on 
a  tearing  gallop,  he  could  not  be  quiet,  but  constantly 
jerked  the  reins,  which  he  always  held  in  his  righ} 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  5i 

hand.  "When  delayed  in  writing  despatches,  behind 
the  time  appointed  for  his  departure  for  the  army,  the 
moment  he  had  finished, — the  cry  "  to  horse,"  acted 
like  an  electric  shock  on  his  attendants,  and  in  a 
moment  every  man  was  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  and 
the  next  moment  the  entire  suite  were  driving  like  a 
whirlwind  along  the  road.  In  this  way  he  would  gc 
all  day  without  stopping;  and  if  despatches  met  him 
on  the  way,  he  would  read  them  as  he  rode, — throw- 
ing envelopes  and  unimportant  letters,  one  after 
another,  from  the  carriage  window,  with  a  rapidity 
that  showed  how  quickly  he  devoured  the  contents 
of  each.  He  usually  opened  these  despatches  him- 
self, but  if  his  secretary  did  it  for  him,  he  would  sit 
and  work  at  the  window  sash  with  his  fingers, — so 
necessary  was  some  outlet  to  the  fierce  action  of  his 
mind.  He  would  drive  through  the  army  at  the  same 
furious  rate  ;  and  when  the  outriders  called  out  "  room 
for  the  Emperor  1"  every  one  felt  he  could  not  be  too 
quick  in  obeying ;  and  before  the  utter  confusion  of 
clearing  the  way  had  passed,  the  cortege  was  seen  fly- 
ing like  a  cloud  across  the  plain,  beyond  hearing,  and 
almost  out  of  sight.  But  through  the  Guards  he  always 
moved  with  becoming  pomp  and  solemnity,  saluting 
the  officers  as  he  passed. 

Maps  were  his  invariable  companions  in  a  cam- 
paign, and  he  always  had  one  spread  out  at  night  in 
his  apartment,  or  a  tent  which  was  always  pitched 
amid  the  squares  of  the  Old  Guards, — surrounded  with 
candles,  so  that  he  might  rise  at  any  moment  and 
consult  it:  and  when  on  the  road  or  in  the  field  h« 
wanted  one,  so  impatient  was  he  known  to  be  that 
the  two  officers  who  carried  them  rode  down  every 
thing  between  them  ard  his  horse  or  carriage.  On  sucL 


62  HIS     RIDE     TO     PARIS. 

occasions  lie  would  frequently  order  the  map  he  desired 
to  be  unrolled  on  the  ground,  and  stretching  himself 
full  length  upon  it,  in  a  moment  be  lost  to  every  thing 
but  the  campaign  before  him.  A  remarkable  instance 
of  his  impatience  and  impetuosity  is  exhibited  in  the 
manner  he  received  Marie  Louise  on  her  way  to  meet 
him.  As  she  drove  up  to  the  post  town,  where  he  ex- 
pected her,  he  jumped  into  the  carriage  all  wet  with 
rain  as  he  was,  and  embraced  this  daughter  of  tin 
Cesars  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  relative  ;  and  or 
dering  the  postillions  to  drive  at  full  gallop  to  Com- 
peigne,  insisted  on  having  the  conjugal  rites  before 
marriage,  and  obtained  them.  But  perhaps  there  is 
not  a  more  striking  instance  of  the  impetuosity  of  his 
feelings  than  his  mad  ride  to  Paris,  when  it  was  en- 
veloped by  the  allied  armies.  Being  himself  deceived 
by  the  enemy,  they  had  got  full  three  days'  start  oi 
him  towards  the  capital,  with  a  force  that  bore  down 
every  thing  in  their  passage.  It  was  then  Napoleon 
strained  every  nerve  to  reach  the  city  before  its  capitu- 
lation. He  urged  his  exhausted  army  to  the  top 
of  its  speed,  and  on  the  29th  of  March,  the  day  be- 
fore he  left  it,  he  marched  with  the  Imperial  Guard 
forty  miles.  Wearied  out,  the  brave  cuirassiers 
could  no  longer  keep  pace  with  his  haste,  and  he  set 
out  alone  for  Paris.  Despatching  courier  after  cou- 
rier to  announce  his  approach,  he  drove  on  with  fu- 
rious speed ;  but  as  the  disastrous  news  was  brought 
him  that  the  enemy  were  struggling  on  the  heights  of 
Montmartre,  his  impatience  knew  no  bounds.  He 
abandoned  his  carriage  as  being  too  slow,  though 
it  came  and  went  with  frightful  velocity  on  the  as- 
tonished peasantry,  and  changing  it  for  a  light  Oa- 
lecLe,  he  sprung  into  it,  and  ordered  the  postillions  to 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  53 

whip  the  horses  to  the  top  of  their  speed.  He  dashed 
away  as  if  life  and  deatli  hung  on  every  step.  "  Fast? 
or,  faster  !"  he  cried  to  the  postillions,  though  the  whij. 
fell  incessantly  on  the  flanks  of  the  panting  steeds. 
"  Faster,  faster,"  he  cried,  as  the  houses  and  field  swept 
past  him  like  a  vision.  His  throne,  his  crown,  his 
empire,  shook  in  the  balance,  and  the  flying  chariot 
seemed  to  creep  over  the  lengthened  way.  Nothing 
could  satisfy  him,  and  the  cry  of  "  faster,  faster,"  still 
rung  in  the  ears  of  the  astonished  postillions,  though 
the  carriage  wheels  were  already  on  fire  from  their 
rapid  evolutions.  Vain  speed !  Paris  had  fallen. 

This  impetuosity  of  temper  and  hatred  of  restrain' 
made  him  frequently  overbearing  and  unjust  to  1m 
officers,  when  they  had  failed  in  executing  his  plans 
In  the  first  transport  of  passion,  he  would  hear  no 
defence  and  no  apology  ;  but  after  reflection  made  him 
more  reasonable  and  just,  and  a  generous  act  would 
repay  a  sudden  wrong.  It  was  this  trait  of  character 
which  grew  stronger,  as  he  drew  towards  the  close  ol 
his  career,  that  made  many  around  him  declare  that 
he  hated  the  truth.  It  was  not  the  truth  which  arous- 
ed him,  but  the  declaration  that  his  plans  would  be  or 
had  been  bafiied.  He  was  so  confident  that  he  usu- 
ally knew  more  than  all  around  him,  that  he  in  time 
became  so  self-opinionated  that  he  could  not  brook 
advice  which  clashed  with  his  views.  With  weight 
and  velocity  both,  his  mind  had  terrible  momentum, 
and  even  in  a  wrong  way  often  conquered  by  its  irre- 
sistible power. 

Napoleon  was  a  great  statesman  as  well  as  military 
leader.  His  conversations  in  his  exile  evince  the 
most  profound  knowledge  of  political  science,  while 
the  or  An*  he  brought  out  of  chaos,  and  indeed  the 


54  HIS     PRACTICAL     POWEK. 

glorious  resurrection  he  gave  to  France,  show  that  h< 
was  not  great  in  theory  alone.  He  was  equal  to  Ce- 
sar as  a  warrior,  to  Bacon  in  political  sagacity,  and 
ntK>ve  all  other  kings  in  genius. 

Perhaps  Napoleon  exhibits  nowhere  in  his  life,  his 
mazing  grasp  of  thought  and  power  of  accomplish- 
ment, more  than  in  the  year  and  a  half  after  his  ar- 
rival from  Egypt.  Hearing  that  the  Republic  was 
every  where  defeated,  and  Italy  wrested  from  its 
grasp,  he  immediately  set  sail  for  France,  and  escap- 
ing the  English  fleet  in  a  most  miraculous  manner, 
protected  by  "his  star,"  reached  'France  in  October. 
By  November  he  had  overthrown  the  inefficient  Di- 
rectory, and  been  proclaimed  First  Consul  with  all  the 
attributes,  but  none  of  the  titles  of  king.  He  imme 
diately  commenced  negotiations  with  the  allied  pow 
ei^,  while  at  the  same  time  he  brought  his  vast  ener 
gies  to  bear  on  the  internal  state  of  France.  Credit 
was  to  be  restored,  money  raised,  the  army  supplied, 
war  in  Vendee  suppressed,  and  a  constitution  given  to 
France.  By  his  superhuman  exertions  and  all  per- 
vading genius,  he  accomplished  all  this,  and  by  nexf 
spring  was  ready  to  offer  Europe  peace  or  war.  Or- 
der sprung  from  chaos  at  his  touch — the  tottering  go- 
vernment stopped  rocking  on  its  base  the  moment  his 
mighty  hand  fell  upon  it — wealth  flowed  from  the 
lap  of  poverty,  and  vast  resources  were  drawn  from 
apparent  nothingness.  France,  rising  from  her  prone 
position,  stood  ready  to  give  battle  to  the  world.  Eu- 
rope chose  war.  The  gigantic  mind  that  had 
wrought  such  prodigies  in  seven  months  in  France, 
now  turned  its  concentrated  strength  and  wrath  on 
the  enemy.  Massena  he  sent  to  Genoa  to  furnish  ar. 
example  ">f  heroism  to  latest  posterity. — Moreau  he 


NAPOLEON     BONAPAKTE.  55 

despatched  to  Swabia  to  render  the  Black  Forest  ini 
mortal  by  the  victories  of  Engen,  Mreskirch  and 
Biberach,  and  send  the  Austrians  in  consternation  to 
their  capital,  while  he  himself,  amid  the  confusion  and 
wonderment  of  Europe  at  his  complicated  move- 
ments, precipitated  his  enthusiastic  troops  down  the 
Alps,  and  by  one  bold  and  successful  stroke  wrested 
Italy  from  the  enemy,  and  forced  the  astonished  and 
discomfitted  sovereigns  of  Europe  to  an  armistice  of 
six  months.  Unexhausted  by  his  unparalleled  efforts, 
no  sooner  was  the  truce  proclaimed  than  he  plunged 
with  the  same  suddenness  yet  profound  forethought 
with  which  he  rushed  into  battle,  into  the  distracted 
politics  of  Europe.  By  a  skilful  stroke  of  policy  in 
offering  Malta  to  Russia,  at  the  moment  it  was  cer- 
tain to  fall  into  the  hands  of  England,  he  embroiled 
these  two  countries  in  a  quarrel,  while  by  promising 
Hanover  to  Prussia,  he  bribed  her  to  reject  the  coali- 
tion with  England,  and  consent  to  an  alliance  with 
himself.  At  the  same  time  he  planned  the  league  of  the 
neutral  powers  against  England, — armed  Denmark 
and  Sweden,  and  closed  all  the  ports  of  the  Continent 
against  her,  and  prepared  succours  for  Egypt.  While 
his  deep  sagacity  was  thus  baffling  the  cabinet  of 
England,  involving  her  in  a  general  war  with  Eu- 
rope, and  pressing  to  her  lips  the  chalice  she  had  just 
forced  him  to  drink,  he  apparently  devoted  his  entire 
energies  to  the  internal  state  of  France,  and  the 
building  of  public  works.  He  created  the  bunk  oj 
France — put  the  credit  of  government  on  a  firm  basis — 
began  the  Codes,  spanned  the  Alps  with  roads— suffi- 
cient monuments  in  themselves  of  his  genius — and 
restored  the  complete  supremacy  of  the  laws  throng} i 
'Mit  the  kingdom.  All  this  lie  accomplished  in  si.\ 


5(>  1118     AMBITION. 

mouths,  and  at  the  close  of  the  armistice  was  road}'  foi 
war.  The  glorious  campaign  of  Hohenlinden  followed 
and  Austria,  frightened  for  her  throne,  negotiated 
the  peace  of  Luneville,  giving  the  world  time  to 
recover  its  amazement  and  gaze  more  steadily  on  this 
mighty  sphere  that  had  shot  so  suddenly  across  the 
crbit  of  kings. 

That  Napoleon  in  all  this  was  ambitious  no 
one  doubts,  but  his  ambition  was  indissolubly  con- 
nected with  the  welfare  and  glory  of  France.  Pow- 
er was  the  ruling  star  in  his  heaven,  but  he 
sought  it  in  order  to  make  France  powerful.  His 
energies  developed  hers,  and  the  victories  ho  won 
were  for  her  safety  and  defence.  He  is  accused  of 
having  aimed  at  supreme  power,  and  nothing  short 
of  it  would  have  satisfied  him.  A  second  Alexander, 
he  waded  through  seas  of  blood,  and  strode  ovei 
mountains  of  corpses,  solely  to  accomplish  this  object, 
and  his  fall  was  the  fall  of  one  who  aimed  at  uni- 
versal empire.  Mr.  Alison  takes  up  this  piece  of 
nonsense,  and  gives  us  pages  of  the  merest  cant 
about  the  danger  of  ambition  and  love  of  power,  and 
the  Providence  that  arrests  it — declaring,  in  so  many 
words,  that  Napoleon  sought  the  subjugation  of  Eu- 
rope. If  this  were  true  he  might  have  spared  the 
tribute  he  pays  to  Napoleon's  genius,  for  it  would 

rove  him  the  sublimest  fool  that  ever  held  a  sceptre. 

o  assert  ^hat  he  ever  dreamed  of  being  able  to  sub- 
jugate England,  Russia.  Prussia,  Austria,  and  the 
northern  powers  of  Europe,  and  combine  them  in  ouo 
vast  empire,  of  which  he  would  be  the  head,  is  too 
ridiculous  to  receive  a  serious  refutation.  That  he 
over  expected  to  make  England  a  dependant  province 
on  France,  thore  is  not  an  intelligent  man  in  the  En? 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  57 

tish  Empire  believes  ;  yet  English  historians  will 
never  cease  their  cant  about  this  modern  Alexan- 
der, who  fell  because  he  sought  to  conquer  the  world. 
Napoleon,  as  I  have  said,  would  gladly  have  adopted 
the  let-alone  policy  both  with  England  and  Russia, 
as  'veil  as  with  Austria  and  Prussia,  if  they  would 
have  allowed  it.  He  was  ambitious,  but  he  knew  too 
well  that  with  Europe  banded  against  him,  he  must 
sooner  or  later  fall ;  and  the  utmost  limit  of  his  hopes 
was  to  break  this  coalition  by  crippling  either  Russia 
or  England.  Could  he  have  done  this,  he  would  soon 
have  extorted  a  peace  from  the  rest  of  Europe  that 
would  have  allowed  him  to  prosecute  his  ambitious 
schemes  in  the  East,  where  success  was  certain. 
England  wished  this  road  to  wealth  and  to  em- 
pire left  open  to  her,  so  she  uttered  a  vast  deal  of 
nonsense  about  unlimited  power  and  the  danger  of 
Europe,  till  she  induced  Europe  to  crush  Napoleon. 
The  East,  as  I  before  remarked,  with  its  boundless 
wealth  and  imbecile  population,  he  always  regarded  as 
the  true  field  where  fame  and  empire  were  to  be  laid, 
and  he  would  have  been  glad  any  moment  if  Europe 
would  have  left  him  to  pursue  the  career  he  commenced 
in  Egypt.  That  he  would  have  been  as  unprincipled 
in  his  aggressions  on  peaceable  states — as  heartless  in 
the  means  he  employed — as  reckless  of  the  law  of  na 
tions — as  perfidious  in  his  policy — as  cruel  in  his 
slaughters — and  as  grasping  after  territory,  as  the 
British  Empire  has  since  shown  herself  to  be,  his  life, 
character,  and  plans  leave  but  little  room  to  doubt. 
Perhaps  it  is  better  that  he  wasted  his  immense  ener- 
gies as  he  did,  in  breaking  to  pieces  the  despotisms  01 
Europe.  As  it  was,  he  rolled  the  Revolution  over  the 


58  II  •  S     W  A  N  1      OF     K  E  1'  U  B  L  I  C  A  N  I  8  M  . 

French  borders,  and  sent  it  with  its  earthquake  throes 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Continent. 

I  have  thus  spoken  of  Bonaparte  comparatively,  and 
uot  as  an  individual  judged  by  the  law  of  right.  1 
wished  to  place  him  beside  the  monarchs  and  govern- 
ments that  surrounded  him,  and  see  where  the  ba- 
lance of  virtue  lay.  He  was  ambitious — so  was  Pitt ; 
while  the  ambition  of  the  former  was  far  less  selfish, 
heartless  and  cruel  than  that  of  the  latter.  One  in- 
sisted on  the  treaty  of  Amiens,  by  which  the  world 
was  bound  to  peace ;  the  other  broke  it,  and  involved 
Europe  in  war  solely  for  selfish  ends.  Napoleon  lias 
been  blamed  for  robbing  France  of  her  republican 
form  of  government,  and  reinstating  monarchy ;  and 
men  are  prone  to  compare  him  with  Washington,  and 
wonder  why  he  could  not  have  imitated  his  example, 
and,  content  with  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  his 
country,  returned  to  the  rank  of  citizen,  and  left  a 
name  unspotted  by  blood  and  violence.  In  the  first 
place,  the  thing  was  absolutely  impossible.  A  pure 
Republic  France  could  not  have  been  with  the  popu- 
lation the  Revolution  left  upon  her  bosom.  As  igno- 
rant of  liberty  and  undisciplined,  as  the  South  Ame- 
rican States  and  Mexico,  she  would  have  been  rocked 
like  them  with  endless  revolutions,  until  European 
powers  had  overcome  her,  and  replaced  a  Bourbon  on 
the  throne.  And  if  her  population  had  been  prepared 
for  complete  freedom,  the  monarchs  of  Europe  would 
not  have  allowed  her  to  establish  a  Republic  in  peace. 
Imagine  1he  United  States  in  the  midst  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, surrounded  by  despotic  thrones — Canada — the 
West — Mexico,  and  Florida — all  so  many  old  monar- 
chies, thoroughly  alarmed  by  the  sudden  appearance 
tf  a  free  state  in  their  midst,  and  in  their  affright 


N  A  P  O  L  E  O  N     BONAPARTE.  59 

oanding  themselves  together  to  crush  the  infant  Re 
public,  and  you  will  have  some  conception  oi  the  sit 
uation  of  France  during  the  Revolution.  Let  Wash 
ington  have  commanded  our  forces,  and  in  re- 
sisting this  war  of  aggression  have  wrested  from  one 
of  the  poweis  dominions  to  which  it  had  no  claim, 
as  France  took  Italy  from  Austria.  Suppose  this  des- 
potic feudal  alliance  was  kept  up,  and  no  permanent 
peace  would  be  made  till  "Washington  was  over- 
thrown ;  his  career  and  ours  would  have  been  very  dif- 
ferent. Our  plains  would  have  all  been  battle  fields 
until  we  had  broken  up  the  infamous  coalition,  or  been 
ourselves  overborne.  In.  such  a  position  were  Bo- 
naparte and  France  placed,  and  such  a  war  was  wag- 
ed till  they  fell.  Placing  ourselves  in  a  similar  posi- 
tion, we  shall  not  find  it  difficult  to  determine  where 
the  chief  guilt  lay,  or  be  wanting  in  charity  to  Napo- 
leon, for  the  recklessness  with  which  he  carried  on  a 
war  against  powers  so  destitute  of  faith  and  virtue, 
and  whose  aggressive  policy  had  well  nigh  crushed 
the  hopes  of  freedom  on  the  Continent.  But  had 
these  circumstances  not  existed,  he  never  would  have 
been  a  Washington,  for  he  possessed  few  of  his  mo- 
ral qualities.  Washington  appears  in  grander  pro- 
portions as  a  moral  than  as  an  intellectual  man, 
while  Bonaparte  was  a  moral  dwarf;  and  I  do  not 
well  see  how  lie  could  be  otherwise.  Dedicated  from 
childhood  to  the  profession  of  arms,  all  his  thoughts 
and  associations  were  of  a  military  character.  With- 
out moral  or  religious  instruction,  he  was  thrown 
while  a  youth  into  the  vortex  of  the  revolution ;  and 
in  the  triumph  of  infidelity,  and  the  overthrow  of  all 
religion,  and  the  utter  chaos  of  principles  and  senti- 
ments ;  it  was  not  to  be  expected  he  would  lay  tbf 


60  II  T  8     MORAL     CHARACTER. 

foundation  of  a  religious  character.  He  emerged  frou 
this  into  the  life  of  the  camp  and  the  battle-field,  and 
hence  became  morally  what  most  men  would  be  in  sim- 
ilar circumstances.  Besides,  his  very  nature  was 
despotic.  He  could  not  brook  restraint,  and,  con- 
scious of  knowing  more  than  those  around  him,  he 
constantly  sought  for  power  that  he  might  carry  out 
those  stupendous  plans  which  otherwise  would  have 
been  interrupted.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Napoleon's 
highest  ambition  was  to  reign  aa  a  just  and  equitable 
monarch  amid  the  thrones  of  Europe,  expending  his 
vast  energies  elsewhere ;  and  that  much  of  his  vio- 
lence and  recklessness  arose  from  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  to  expect  no  faith  or  honesty,  or  justice, 
or  truth,  from  the  perfidious  nations  that  had  bound 
themselves  together  to  crush  him.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain, had  he  been  less  a  monarch,  France  could  not 
have  withstood  as  long  as  she  did,  the  united  strength 
of  Europe. 

Bonaparte  is  charged  with  being  cruel,  but  it  is  un- 
just. He  was  capable  of  great  generosity,  and  exhi- 
bited pity  in  circumstances  not  to  be  expected  from  a 
man  trained  on  the  battle  field.  Hearing  once  of  a 
poor  English  sailor,  who  having  escaped  from  confine- 
ment, had  constructed  a  frail  boat  of  cork  and  branch  • 
es  of  trees,  with  which  he  designed  to  put  to  sea,  in 
the  hopes  of  meeting  an  English  vessel,  and  thug 
reaching  England;  he  sent  for  him,  and  on  learning 
from  his  lips  that  this  bold  undertaking  was  to  get 
back  to  his  aged  mother,  he  immediately  despatched 
him  with  a  flag  of  truce  on  board  an  English  ship, 
with  a  sum  of  money  for  his  aged  parent,  saying  that 
she  must  be  an  uncommon  mother  to  have  so  affec- 
tionate a  son.  The  guide  who  conducted  him  ovei 


NAPOLKON     BONAPAKTE.  61 


the  San  Bernard,  and  who,  ignorant  of  the 
man  that  bestrode  the  miserable  animal  by  his  side, 
gave  him  a  full  account  of  his  life  and  plans  —  of  hie 
betrothment  and  inability  to  marry  for  want  of  a 
piece  of  land,  —  was  not  forgotten  by  him  afterwards 
The  land  was  bought  and  presented  to  the  young 
man  by  order  of  Napoleon.  Repeated  acts  of  kind-  ) 
ness  to  poor  wounded  soldiers,  was  one  of  the  chord  sr  — 
of  iron  which  bound  them  to  him.  The  awful  spec- 
tacle which  a  battle-field  presents  after  the  carnage 
is  done,  frequently  moved  him  deeply,  and  he  wept 
like  a  child  over  his  dying  friend  Lannes.  His  sym-  / 
pathies,  it  is  true,  never  interfered  with  his  plans. 
What  his  judgment  approved,  his  heart  never  coun- 
termanded ;  and  what  he  thought  necessary  to  be  / 
done,  he  did,  reckless  of  the  suffering  it  occasioned.  « 
He  was  inflexible  as  law  itself  in  the  course  he  had 
decided  upon  as  the  most  expedient.  The  murder  of 
the  Duke  of  Enghien  is  perhaps  the  greatest  blot  on 
his  character,  but  he  was  goaded  into  this  by  the 
madness,  and  folly,  and  villany  of  the  race  to  which 
this  unfortunate  prince  belonged.  In  the  midst  of  his 
vast  preparations  for  a  descent  upon  England,  he  was 
informed  of  a  plot  to  assassinate  him,  and  place  a 
Bourbon  on  the  throne.  The  two  ends  of  this  con- 
spiracy were  Paris  arid  London,  between  which  there 
was  an  unbroken  line  of  communication  across  the 
channel.  The  secret  route  was  discovered,  and  seve- 
ral of  the  conspirators  arrested.  The  Bourbons  in 
England  were  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  English  gold 
paid  the  expense.  Pichegrue  had  arrived  in  Paris, 
with  the  infamous  Georges,  who  had  so  nearly  succeed- 
ed in  taking  the  life  of  the  First  Consul  by  the  explo- 
sion of  the  infernal  machine.  Moreau  had  been 


t)2     HIP     WRATH     AGAINST     THE    B  O  U  K  B  O  N  8  . 

sounded,  and  was  found  ready  to  aid  in  the  assassi- 
nation of  his  former  general,  but  would  not  listen  to 
the  proposal  of  re-establishing  the  Bourbon  dynasty. 
His  envy  had  made  him  the  enemy  of  Napoleon,  and 
he  wished  to  occupy  his  place.  This  jar  between  the 
conspirators  caused  delay  and  uncertainty,  which  en- 
abled Napoleon  to  ferret  it  out.  Georges  himself,  after 
much  trouble,  was  taken,  and  he,  with  other  inferior 
conspirators,  confessed  the  plot,  and  acknowledged 
that  "  the  prince "  was  expected  from  England  to 
head  the  conspiracy.  Napoleon  despatched  soldiers 
to  the  sea  coast  to  arrest  whoever  might  land  at  the 
point  designated  by  the  conspirators.  They  watched 
by  the  shore  for  days  ;  and  though  a  small  vessel  kept 
iiovering  near,  as  if  waiting  for  signals  to  land,  it  was 
suspicious  all  was  not  right,  and  finally  moved  off  al- 
together. Moreau  was  tried,  found  guilty,  and  exiled 
— the  mildest  punishment  he  could  possibly  expect. 
Pichegru  was  thrown  into  prison,  but  "the  Prince," 
whom  Napoleon  was  feverishly  anxious  to  get  hold 
of,  was  not  to  be  found.  Tin's  whole  plot,  interrupt- 
ing as  it  did  his  vast  plans,  and  exciting  the  feelingi 
of  the  people  to  a  state  bordering  on  revolution, 
filled  him  with  uncontrollable  rage.  He  felt  that 
he  was  not  regarded  as  a  respectable  enemy ;  for  even 
princes  of  the  blood,  and  nobles,  were  endeavouring 
to  assassinate  hi  in  like  a  common  ruffian.  With  his 
usual  watchfulness  he  began  to  inquire  about  the  ex- 
iled princes  ;  and  being  told  that  one  was  at  Etten- 
heim,  near  Strasbourg,  he  immediately  despatched  a 
spy  to  watch  his  movements,  for  he  had  not  the  least 
doubt  that  every  Bourbon  was  in  the  conspiracy. 

This  spy  reported    that  General    Dourno'irier,   an 
other  old   but  exiled   general,  was   with   the  prince 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  63 

This  mistake  decided  Napoleon  to  arrest  him,  sacred 
as  his  person  ought  to  have  been  on  neutral  territory. 
Whether    he    afterwards    became   convinced    of   the 
young  Duke's  innocence  or  not,  matters  very  little  as 
to  his  guilt.     He  wished  to   destroy   some   Bourbon 
prince,  and  he  had   determined   to   execute   the   first 
one  that  fell  into  his  hands.     To  be  waylaid  and  shot 
like  a  dog  by  Bourbon  princes,  enraged  him  so,  that 
the  voice  of  justice  could  not  be  heard.      Seated  on 
his  proud  eminence,  bending  his  vast  energies  to  the 
most    stupendous    plans    that    ever    filled    a    human 
mind,  lie  was  reminded  that  royal  blood  regarded  him 
as  only  a  fit  victim  for  the  assassin's  knife ;  and  he 
determined  to  teach  kings  that  he  would  deal  by  them 
openly  as  they  had  done  by  him  secretly.     Some  idea 
of  his  feelings  may  be  got  from  the  language  he  fre- 
quently  indulged  in   when  speaking   of   the  princes 
and  nobles   that  were    engaged    in   this    conspiracy. 
Said  he,    "  These  Bourbons  fancy  that  they  may  shed 
my  blood  like  some  wild  animal,  and  yet  my  blood  is 
quite   as  precious  as  theirs.     I  will   repay  them   the 
alarm  with  which  they  seek  to  inspire  me ;  I  pardon 
Moreau  the  weakness  and  errors  to  which  he  is  urged 
by  stupid  jealousy,    but  I  will  pitilessly  shoot    the 
very  first  of   these  princes   who  shall   fall  into  my 
hands ;  I  will  teach  them  with  what  sort  of  a  man 
they   have    to    deal."*      He    classed    the    Bourbons 
together, — knew  them  to  be   inspired  with  the  same 
feelings  towards  him,  and  whether  bound  by  contract 
or  not,  sympathising  with  each  other  in  this  conspi- 
racy.    In  a  spirit  oi  fierce  retaliation  and  rage,  and 
to  stop  forever  the  plotting  of  these  royal  assassins. 
lie  determined  to  make  a  terrible  example  of  one,  and 
*  Thiers'  Consulate  and  Empire. 


64  HIS     MORAL     CHARACTER. 

die  young  Duke  d'Enghien  fell.  Tlie  news  cf  hit 
death  filled  the  courts  of  Europe  with  horn  r,  and 
was  one  of  the  causes  of  the  general  alliance  against 
Napoleon  that  followed.  This  high-handed  act  ol 
injustice  cannot  be  condemned  too  emphatically,  but 
it  was  not  the  cold-blooded  act  of  a  cruel  man.  Il 
was  a  crime  committed  in  passion,  by  a  spirit  inflamed 
with  the  consciousness  of  having  been  outraged  bj 
those  from  whom  better  things  were  to  be  expected. 
England  lifted  up  her  hands  in  pious  horror  at  the 
act,  yet  had  not  one  word  to  say  about  the  2yr<ymedi- 
tated  murder  of  Napoleon  by  the  Bourbons.  If  he^ 
instead  of  one  of  their  number,  had  fallen,  we  should 
have  heard  no  such  outcry,  from  the  crowned  heads 
of  Europe.  He  had  only  made  a  Bourbon  drink  the 
cup  they  had  prepared  for  his  lips.  The  horror  of 
the  crime  consisted  not  in  its  injustice,  but  that  he 
had  dared  to  lay  his  hands  on  the  sacred  head  of  roy- 
alty. And  yet  this  act,  as  unjust  and  wicked  as  it  is 
conceded  to  have  been,  was  no  more  so  than  that  of 
England,  in  banishing  Napoleon,  when  he  had  thrown 
himself  on  her  generosity,  to  a  lonely  and  barren  isle, 
where  she  could  safely  vent  her  august  spleen  in  those 
petty  annoyances  she  should  have  disdained  to  inflict ; 
or  that  of  the  allies,  in  allowing  Marshal  Ney  to  be 
shot,  in  direct  violation  of  a  treaty  they  had  themselves 
made. 

The  sum  of  the  matter  is,  Napoleon's  moral  char- 
acter was  indifferent  enough ;  yet  as  a  friend  of  human 
liberty,  and  eager  to  promote  the  advancement  of  the 
race,  by  opening  the  field  to  talent  and  genius,  how- 
ever low  their  birth,  he  was  infinitely  superior  to  all 
the  sovereigns  who  endeavoured  to  crush  him.  He 
loved  not  only  France  as  a  nation,  and  sought  he' 


NAPOLEON     BONAPAKTE.  65 

glory ;  but  he  secured  the  liberty  of  the  meanest  of 
her  subjects.  There  was  something  noble  in  his  very 
ambition,  for  it  sought  to  establish  great  public  works, 
found  useful  institutions,  and  send  the  principles  >f  lib- 
erty over  the  world.  As  a  just  and  noble  monarch,  he 
was  superior  to  nine-tenths  of  all  the  kings  that  ever 
reigned  in  Europe,  and  as  an  intellectual  man,  head  and 
shoulders  above  them  all. 

The  attempt  has  also  been  made  to  fix  the  charge 
of  cruelty  and  oppression  on  him,  from  the  joy  mani- 
fested in  France  at  his  overthrow,  and  the  cursings 
and  obloquy  that  followed  his  exile.  But  the  first 
exultation  that  follows  a  new  peace,  is  not  to  be  con- 
sidered the  sober  feeling  of  the  people.  His  return 
from  Elba  is  overwhelming  evidence  against  such 
accusations.  Without  any  plotting  beforehand,  any 
conspiracy  to  make  a  diversion  in  his  favour,  he  boldly 
cast  himself  on  the  affections  of  the  people.  An  es- 
tablished throne,  a  strong  government,  and  a  powerful 
army,  were  on  one  side — the  love  of  the  people  on 
the  other,  and  yet,  soldier  as  he  was,  he  believed  the 
latter  stronger  than  all  the  former  put  together. 
What  a  sublime  trust  in  the  strength  of  affection  does 
his  stepping  ashore  with  his  handful  of  followers  ex- 
hibit? Where  is  the  Bourbon,  or  European  monarch, 
that  would  have  dared  to  do  this ; — or  felt  he  had,  by 
his  efforts  for  the  common  welfare,  laid  the  people  under 
sufficient  obligations,  to  expect  a  universal  rush  to 
his  arms  ?  It  was  not  the  soldiers,  but  the  common 
people  who  first  surrounded  him.  As  he  pitched 
his  tent  without  Cannes,  the  inhabitants  flocked  to 
him  w'th  their  complaints,  and  gathered  around  him 
as  fche  redresser  of  their  wrongs.  As  he  advanced  to- 
wards Grenoble,  the  fields  were  alive  with  peasants 
4* 


<56  K  E  T  U  K  N     F  K  O  M     E  L  B  A  . 

as  they  came  leaping  like  deer  from  every  hill,  dying 
"  Vive  V  Empereur  /"  Tlironging  around  him,  they 
followed  him  with  shouts  to  the  very  gates  of  the  town 
The  commandant  refused  him  admittance,  yet  the 
soldiers  within  stretched  their  arms  through  the 
wickets,  and  shook  hands  with  his  followers  without 
At  length  a  conftised  murmur  arose  over  the  walls, 
and  Napoleon  did  not  know  but  it  was  the  gathering 
for  a  fierce  assault  on  his  little  band.  The  tumult 
grew  wilder  every  moment ;  six  thousand  inhabitants 
from  one  of  the  fauxburgs  had  risen  en  masse,  and 
with  timbers  and  beams  came  pouring  against  the 
gates.  They  tremble  before  the  resistless  shocks — 
reel  and  fall  with  a  crash  to  the  ground,  and  the  ex- 
cited multitude  stream  forth.  Rushing  on  Napoleon, 
they  drag  him  from  his  horse,  kiss  his  hands  and 
garments,  and  bear  him  with  deafening  shouts,  on 
their  shoulders,  into  the  town.  He  next  advances  oi< 
Lyons,  the  gates  of  which  are  also  closed  against  him, 
and  bayonets  gleam  along  the  walls.  Trusting  to 
the  power  of  affection,  rather  than  to  arms,  he  gallops 
boldly  up  to  the  city.  The  soldiers  within,  instead  of 
firing  on  him,  break  over  all  discipline,  and  bursting 
open  the  gates,  rush  in  frantic  joy  around  him, 
shouting  "  Vive  V  Empereur  f"  He  is  not  compelled 
to  plant  his  cannon  against  a  single  town :  power 
returns  to  him  not  through  terror,  but  through  love. 
He  is  not  received  with  the  cringing  of  slaves,  bu 
with  the  open  arms  of  friends,  and  thus  his  course 
towards  the  capital  becomes  one  triumphal  march. 
The  power  of  the  Bourbons  disappears  before  the 
returning  tide  of  affection,  like  towers  of  sand  before 
the  waves ;  and  without  firing  a  gun,  Napoleon  again 
sits  down  on  his  recovered  throne,  amid  the  acclama 


NAPOLEON     BONAPAKTE.  67 

tions  of  the  people.  Who  ever  saw  a  tyrant  and  ail 
oppressor  received  thus?  Where  is  the  monarch  in 
Europe,  that  dare  fling  himself  in  such  faith  on  the 
affections  of  his  subjects?  Where  was  ever  the  Bonr- 
bon  that  could  show  such  a  title  to  the  throne  he  oc- 
cupied ?  An !  the  people  do  not  thus  receive  the  maw 
who  forges  fetters  for  their  limbs ;  and  Napoleon  at 
this  day,  holds  a  firmer  place  in  the  affections  of  the  in- 
habitants of  France,  than  any  monarch  that  ever  filled 
its  throne. 

The  two  greatest  errors  of  Napoleon,  were  the  con- 
quest of  Spain,  and  the  invasion  of  Russia.  The 
former  was  not  only  an  impolitic  act,  but  one  of  great 
injustice  and  cruelty.  The  invasion  of  Russia  might 
have  terminated  differently,  and  been  recorded  by 
historians,  as  the  crowning  monument  of  his  genius, 
out  for  the  burning  of  Moscow  by  the  inhabitants ;  an 
event  certainly  not  to  be  anticipated.  He  lost  the 
flower  of  his  army  there,  and  instead  of  striking  the 
heart  of  his  enemy,  he  pierced  his  own. 

It  is  useless,  however,  to  speak  of  the  mistakes  that 
Napoleon  made,  and  show  how  he  should  have  acted 
here,  and  planned  there,  to  have  succeeded ;  or  at- 
tempt to  trace  the  separate  steps,  in  the  latter  part  of 
his  career,  to  his  downfall,  and  pretend  to  say  how 
they  might  have  been  avoided.  After  taking  into  the 
calculation  all  the  chances  and  changes  that  did  or 
would  come — all  the  losses  that  might  have  been 
prevented,  and  all  the  successes  that  might  have 
been  gained,  and  pointing  out  great  errors  here  and 
there  in  his  movements,  it  is  plain  that  nothing  lese 
than  a  miracle  could  have  saved  the  tottering-  throne 
rf  the  Empire.  After  the  disaster  of  Leipsic,  and  th€ 


t)8  INVASION     OF     FKANCE. 

losses  sustained  by  different  divisions  of  the  army  in 
that  campaign,  and  the  mortality  which  thinned  so 
dreadfully  the  French  armies  on  the  Rhine,  Franco 
felt  herself  exhausted  and  weak.  In  this  depressed 
state,  the  civilized  world  was  preparing  its  last  united 
onset  upon  her.  From  the  Baltic  to  the  Bosphorus — 
from  the  Archangel  to  the  Mediterranean,  Europe 
had  banded  itself  against  Napoleon.  Denmark  and 
Sweden  struck  hands  with  Austria,  and  Russia,  and 
Prussia,  and  England  ;  while,  to  crown  all,  the  Princes 
of  the  confederation  of  the  Rhine,  put  their  signature 
to  the  league,  and  one  million  and  twenty-eight  thous- 
and men  stood  up  in  battle  array  on  the  plains  of 
Europe,  to  overthrow  this  mighty  spirit  that  had 
shaken  so  terribly  their  thrones. 

France,  which  had  before  been  drained  to  meet  the 
losses  of  the  Russian  campaign,  could  not,  with  her 
utmost  efforts,  raise  more  than  a  third  of  the  number  ot 
this  immense  host. 

Her  provinces  were  invaded,  and  this  resistless 
array  were  pointing  their  bayonets  towards  Paris. 
In  this  dreadful  emergency,  though  none  saw  better 
than  he,  the  awful  abyss  that  was  opening  before 
him,  Napoleon  evinced  no  discouragement  and  no 
hesitation.  Assembling  the  conscripts  from  every 
quarter  of  France,  and  hurrying  them  on  to  head 
quarters,  he  at  length,  after  presenting  his  fair  haire  i 
boy  to  the  National  Guards,  as  their  future  sove- 
reign, amid  teal's  and  exclamations  of  enthusiasm, 
and  embracing  his  wife  for  the  last  time,  set  out  for 
the  army.  His  energy,  his  wisdom  and  incessant 
activity,  soon  changed  the  face  of  affairs.  He  had 
struggled  against  as  great,  odds  in  his  first  Italian 


NAPOLEON     BONAPARTE.  69 

campaign  ;  and  if  nothing  else  could  be  done,  he  at  least 
could  fall  with  honour  on  the  soil  of  his  country. 
Never  did  his  genius  shine  forth  with  greater  splen- 
dour than  in  the  almost  superhuman  exertions  he  put 
forth  in  this  his  last  great  struggle  for  his  empire. 
No  danger  could  daunt  him — no  reverses  subdue  him 
> — no  toil  exhaust  him — and  no  difficulties  shake  hia 
iron  will.  In  the  dead  of  winter,  struggling  with 
new  and  untried  troops,  he  fought  an  army  outnum- 
bering his  own  two  to  one — beat  them  back  at  every 
point,  and  sent  dismay  into  the  hearts  of  the  allied 
sovereigns,  as  they  again  saw  the  shadow  of  his 
mighty  spirit  over  their  thrones.  He  was  everywhere 
cheering  and  steadying  his  men,  and  on  one  occasion 
worked  a  cannon  himself  as  he  did  when  a  youth  in 
the  artillery  ;  and  though  the  balls  whistled  around 
him  till  the  soldiers  besought  him  to  retire,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Courage !  the  bullet  that  is  to  kill  me  is 
not  yet  cast."  At  length  the  whole  allied  army  was 
forced  to  retreat,  and  offered  peace  if  he  would  con- 
sent to  have  his  empire  dismembered,  and  France 
restored  to  its  limits  before  the  revolution.  This  he 
indignantly  refused  ;  preferring  rather  to  bury  him- 
self amid  the  ruins  of  his  empire.  But  with  his  com- 
paratively handful  of  raw  recruits,  what  could  he 
do  against  the  world  in  arms  ?  His  rapid  victories 
began  to  grow  less  decisive  ;  the  glory  with  which 
he  had  anew  covered  the  army,  waxed  dim ;  and  his 
star  that  had  once  more  blazed  forth  in  its  ancient 
splendour  in  the  heavens,  was  seen  sinking  to  the 
horizon. 

The  allies  entered    the  capital,  and   Napoleon  was 
compelled  to  abdicate.     On  the  day  after  the  signature 


70  ATTEMPT     AT     SUICIDE. 

of  the  treaty,  by  which  he  was  divested  of  j  ower,  and 
Bent  an  exile  from  the  country  he  had  saved — deserted 
by  all  his  soldiers,  his  marshals,  his  army — even  bv 
his  wife  and  family,  he  said  to  Caulincourt  at  night, 
after  a  long  and  sad  revery,  "  My  resolution  is  taken , 
we  must  end  :  I  feel  it."  At  midnight  the  fallen  Em- 
peror was  in  convulsions ;  he  had  swallowed  poison. 
As  his  faithful  Caulincourt  came  in,  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  said,  "  Caulincourt,  I  am  about  to  die.  1 
recommend  to  you  my  wife  and  son  ; — defend  my 
memory.  I  could  no  longer  endure  life.  The  deser- 
tion of  my  old  companions  in  arms  had  broken  iny 
heart."  Violent  vomiting,  however,  gave  him  relief; 
and  his  life  was  saved. 

His  farewell  to  his  faithful  Old  Guard,  before  he 
departed  from  Fontainbleau  for  Elba,  was  noble  and 
touching.  He  passed  into  their  midst  as  he  had  been 
wont  to  do  when  he  pitched  his  tent  for  the  night  in 
their  protecting  squares,  and  addressed  them  in  words 
of  great  tenderness.  "  For  twenty  years,"  said  he, 
"  I  have  ever  found  you  in  the  path  of  honour  and 
of  glory.  Adieu,  my  children  ;  I  would  I  were  able 
to  press  you  all  to  my  heart, — but  I  will  at  least  press 
your  eagle."  With  overpowering  emotion,  he  clasp- 
ed the  General  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  the  eagle. 
Again  bidding  his  old  companions  adieu,  he  drove 
away,  while  cries  and  sobs  of  sorrow  burst  from 
those  brave  hearts  that  had  turned  from  him  the  tide 
of  so  many  battles.  They  besought  the  privilege  01 
following  him  in  his  fallen  fortunes;  but  were  refused 
their  prayer. 

But  Elba  could  not  long  hold  that  daring,  restless 
spirit.  The  next  year  he  again  unrolled  his  standard 


NAPCLEON     BONAPAKTE.  7J 

in  the  capital  of  France,  and  the  army  opened 
its  arms  to  receive  him.  After  an  exhibition  of  Lis 
wonted  energy  and  genius  during  the  hundred  days' 
preparation,  he  at  length  staked  all  on  the  field  of  Wa- 
terloo. There  the  star  of  his  destiny  again  rose  ovei 
the  horizon,  and  struggled  with  its  ancient  strength  to 
mount  the  heavens  of  fame.  The  battle-cloud  rolled 
over  it ;  and  when  it  again  was  swept  away,  that  star 
had  gone  down — sunk  in  blood  and  carnage,  to  rise  no 
more  forever. 

Volumes  have  been  written  on  this  campaign  and 
last  battle ;  but  every  impartial  mind  must  come  to 
the  same  conclusion, — that  Napoleon's  plans  never 
promised  more  complete  success  than  at  this  last  eifort. 
Wellington  was  entrapped ;  and  with  the  -same  co- 
operation on  both  sides,  lie  was  lost  beyond  redemption. 
Had  Blucher  stayed  away  as  Grouchy  did,  or  had 
Grouchy  come  up  as  did  Blucher,  victory  would  once 
more  have  soared  with  the  French  eagles.  It  is  vain 
to  talk  of  Grouchy's  having  obeyed  orders.  It  was 
plainly  his  duty,  and  his  only  duty,  to  detain  Blucher, 
or  follow  him. 

Bonaparte  has  also  been  blamed  for  risking  all  on 
the  last  desperate  charge  of  the  Old  Guard ;  but  he 
well  knew  that  nothing  but  a  decided  victory  could 
save  him.  He  wanted  the  moral  effect  of  one  ;  and 
without  it  he  was  lost ; — and  he  wisely  risked  all  to 
win  it.  He  is  also  blamed,  both  in  poetry  and  prose, 
for  not  throwing  away  his  life  when  tl  e  battle  was 
lost.  If  personal  daring  and  personal  exposure  had 
been  called  for  in  the  disorder,  and  success  could 
have  been  possible,  by  flinging  himself  into  the  very 
jaws  of  death,  he  would  not  have  hesitated  a  mo- 


72  H  I  8     D  E  A  T  H  . 

merit.  Bui  the  rcmte  was  utter;  and  though  he  did 
wish  to  die,  and  would  have  done  so  but  for  his  friends, 
had  he  succeeded  in  his  purpose,  it  would  have  been 
simply  an  act  of  suicide,  for  which  his  enemies  would 
have  been  devoutly  thankful. 

His  last  hope  was  gone,  and  he  threw  himself  into 
the  hands  of  England,  expecting  generous,  but  re- 
ceiving the  basest  treatment.  She  banished  him  tc 
an  inhospitable  rock  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean ;  and 
having  caged  the  lion,  performed  the  honourable  task 
of  watching- at  the  door  of  the  prison,  while  her  para- 
sites kept  a  faithful  record  of  the  complaints  and  irri- 
tations of  the  noble  sufferer,  whose  misfortunes  they 
had  not  the  magnanimity  to  respect.  But  not  all  this 
could  dim  the  splendour  of  that  genius  whose  great 
work  was  done.  The  thoughts  that  here  emanated  from 
him,  and  the  maxims  he  laid  down,  both  in  political 
and  military  life,  show  that  he  could  have  written  one 
of  the  most  extraordinary  books  of  his  age,  as  easily  as 
he  had  become  one  of  its  greatest  military  leaders  and 
rulers. 

But  at  length  that  wonderful  mind  was  to  be 
quenched  in  the  night  of  the  grave ;  and  Nature,  as  if 
determined  to  assert  the  greatness  of  her  work  to  the 
last,  trumpeted  him  out  of  the  world  with  one  of  her 
fiercest  storms.  Amid  the  roar  of  the  blast,  and  the 
shock  of  the  billows,  as  they  broke  where  a  wave 
had  not  struck  fur  twenty  years — and  amid  the  dark- 
ness, and  gloom,  and  uproar  of  one  of  the  most  tem- 
pestuous nights  that  ever  rocked  that  lonely  isle,  Na- 
p< -loon's  troubled  spirit  was  passing  to  that  unseen 
world,  where  the  sound  of  battle  never  comes,  and 
the  tread  of  armies  is  never  heard.  Yet  even  in  this 
solemn  hour ;  his  delirious  soul,  caught  perhaps,  by 


NAPOLEON     BONAPABTE.  73 

the  battle-like  roar  of  the  storm  without,  was  once  mor« 
in  the  midst  of  the  fight,  struggling  by  the  Pyramids, 
or  Danube,  or  on  the  plains  of  Italy.  It  was  the  thun- 
der of  cannon  that  smote  his  ear  ;  and  amid  the  waver- 
ing fight,  and  covering  smoke,  and  tumult  of  the  scene, 
his  glazing  eye  caught  the  heads  of  his  mighty  columns, 
as  torn  yet  steady,  they  bore  his  victorious  eagles  on, 
and  "  Tete  d'Armee"  broke  from  his  dying  lips.  Awe- 
struck and  still,  his  few  remaining  friends  stood  in  tears 
about  his  couch ;  gazing  steadfastly  on  that  awful  king- 
ly brow,  but  it  gave  no  farther  token,  and  the  haughty 
lips  moved  no  more.  Napoleon  lay  silent  and  motion- 
less in  his  last  sleep. 

When  the  prejudice  and  falsehood  and  hatred  of  his 
enemies  shall  disappear,  and  the  world  can  gaze  impar- 
tially on  this  plebeian  soldier  rising  to  the  throne  of  an 
empire — measuring  his  single  intellect  with  the  proudest 
kings  of  Europe,  and  coming  off  victorious  from  the  en- 
counter— rising  above  the  prejudices  and  follies  of  his 
age,  "  making  kings  of  plebeians  and  plebeians  oi 
kings" — grasping,  as  by  intuition,  all  military  and  polit- 
ical science — expending  with  equal  facility  his  vast  en 
ergies  on  war  or  peace — turning  with  the  same  profound 
thought  from  fierce  battles  to  commerce,  and  trade,  and 
finances  ; — I  say  when  the  world  can  calmly  thus  con- 
template him,  his  amazing  genius  will  receive  that 
homage  which  envy,  and  ignorance,  and  hatred,  now 
withhold. 

And  when  the  intelligent  philanthropist  shall  under- 
stand the  political  and  civil  history  of  Europe,  and  see 
how  Napoleon  broke  up  its  systems  of  oppression  and 
feudalism — proclaiming  human  rights  in  the  ears  of  the 
world,  till  the  Continent  shook  with  the  rising  murmurs 
of  oppressed  man — study  well  the  changes  he  intro- 


74  THE     FINAL     VERDICT. 

duced,  without  which  human  progress  must  have  cea:>ed 
— see  tlie  great  public  works  he  established — the  insti- 
tutions he  founded — the  laws  he  proclaimed,  and  the 
civil  liberty  he  restored — and  then,  remembering  that 
the  bloody  wars  that  offset  all  these,  were  waged  by 
him  in  self-defence,  and  were  equal  rights  struggling 
against  exclusive  despotism  ; — he  will  regret  that  he  hat 
adopted  the  slanders  of  his  foeiaen,  and  the  falsehood* 
of  monarchists. 


II. 


MAESHAL  BERTHIEE. 

The  Talents  a  Revolution  developes — Creation  of  the  Marshals — BerthicrN 
Character  and  History — Soliloquy  of  Napoleon — Berthier's  Death. 

NOTHING  is  more  unfortunate  for  a  great  man,  than 
to  be  born  beside  a  greater,  and  walk,  during  life-time, 
in  his  shadow.  It  is  equally  unfortunate  to  be  great 
only  in  one  department  that  is  still  better  filled  by 
another.  Had  Shakspere  not  lived,  Massinger  might 
have  stood  at  the  head  of  English  dramatists ;  and 
had  Alfiery  kept  silent,  a  host  of  writers,  now  almost 
unknown,  would  have  occupied  the  Italian  stage. 
Had  it  not  been  for  Cassar,  Brutus  might  have  ruled 
the  world ;  and  were  it  not  for  Bonaparte,  many  a 
French  general  would  occupy  a  separate  place  in  thai 
history  of  which  they  are  now  only  transient  figures. 
Great  men,  like  birds,  seem  to  come  in  flocks  ;  and  yet 
but  one  stands  as  the  representative  of  his  age.  The 
peak  which  first  catches  the  sunlight  is  crowned 
monarch  of  the  hills,  and  the  rest,  however  lofty,  are 
but  his  bodyguard.  Much  injustice  has  been  done  to 
Bonaparte's  generals  by  not  allowing  for  the  influence 
of  this  principle.  There  is  scarcely  a  historian 
that  will  concede  to  such  men  as  Lannes,  Davoust, 
Murat,  and  Ney,  any  dominant  quality,  except  bra- 
rt»ry  Under  the  guiding  intellect  of  Napoleon,  the} 


76   REVOLUTION  DEVELOPES  GENIUS. 

fought  nobly  ;  but  when  left  to  their  own  resources, 
miserably  failed.  Yet  the  simple  truth  is :  being  com- 
pelled, by  their  relative  position,  to  let  another  plan  for 
them,  they  could  do  little  else  than  execute  orders.  A 
mind  dependent  is  cramped  and  confined,  and  can  ex- 
hibit its  power  only  by  the  force  and  vigor.r  with  which 
it  executes  rather  than  forms  plans. 

But  if  it  be  a  misfortune  for  a  great  man  to  live  and 
move  in  the  shadow  of  a  still  greater,  it  is  directly  the 
reverse  with  a  weak  man.  The  shadow  of  the  genius 
in  which  he  walks,  mantles  his  stupidity,  and  by  the 
dim  glory  it  casts  over  him,  magnifies  his  proportions. 
Such  was  the  position  of  Boswell  to  Johnson,  and  this 
is  the  secret  of  Berthier's  fame.  Being  selected  by  Na- 
poleon as  the  chief  of  his  staff,  and  his  most  intimate 
companion ;  he  has  linked  himself  indissolubly  with 
mimortality. 

The  times  in  which  Bonaparte  lived,  were  well 
calculated  to  produce  such  men  as  he  gathered  around 
him.  A  revolution,  by  its  upturnings,  brings  to  the 
surface  materials,  of  the  existence  of  which,  no  man 
ever  dreamed  before.  Circumstances  make  men,  who 
then  usually  return  the  compliment,  and  make  circum- 
stances. In  ordinary  times,  as  a  general  rule,  the 
souls  of  men  exhibit  what  force  and  fire  they  may 
contain,  in  those  channels  where  birth  has  placed 
them.  This  is  more  especially  true  in  all  monarchi- 
cal and  aristocratical  governments.  The  iron  frame- 
work they  stretch  over  the  human  race,  effectually 
presses  down  every  throb  that  would  otherwise  send 
an  undulation  over  the  mass.  No  head  can  lift  itself 
except  in  the  legitimate  way,  while  very  small  heads 
that  happen  to  hit  the  aperture  aristocracy  has  kind- 
iy  left  open,  may  reach  a  high  elevation.  Revolution 


MARSHAL     BEKTHIEK.  77 

rends  this  frame-work  as  if  it  were  a  cobweb,  and 
lets  the  struggling,  panting  mass  beneath,  suddenly 
erect  themselves  to  their  full  height  and  fling  abroad 
their  arms  in  their  full  strength.  The  surface,  which 
before  kept  its  even  plane,  except  where  a  star  or  de- 
coration told  the  right  of  the  wearer  to  overlook  his 
fellow,  becomes  all  at  once  a  wild  waste  of  rolling 
billows.  Then  man  is  known  by  the  force  within 
him,  and  not  by  the  pomp  about  him.  There  is  also 
a  prejudice  and  bigotry  always  attached  to  rank, 
which  prevents  it  from  seeing  the  worth  below  it, 
while  it  will  not  measure  by  a  just  standard,  because 
that  would  depreciate  its  own  excellence.  Those,  on 
the  contrary,  who  obtain  influence  through  the  soul 
and  force  they  carry  within  them,  appreciate  these 
things  alone  in  others,  and  hence  judge  them  by  a 
true  criterion. 

Thus  Bonaparte — himself  sprung  from  the  middle 
class  of  society — selected  men  to  lead  his  armies  from 
their  personal  qualities  alone.  This  is  one  great 
secret  of  his  astonishing  victories.  Dukes  and  prin- 
ces led  the  allied  armies,  while  men  headed  the  bat- 
talions of  France.  Bonaparte  judged  men  by  what 
they  could  do,  and  not  by  their  genealogy.  He  look- 
ed not  at  the  decorations  that  adorned  the  breast,  but 
at  the  deeds  that  stamped  the  warrior — not  at  the 
learning  that  made  the  perfect  tactician,  but  the  real 
practical  force  that  wrought  out  great  achievements. 
Victorious  battle-fields  were  to  him  the  birth-place  of 
titles,  and  the  commencement  of  genealogies;  and 
stars  were  hung  on  scarred  and  war-battered,  rather 
than  on  noble  breasts.  He  had  learned  the  truth  taught 
in  every  physical  or  moral  revolution,  that  the  great 
effective  moulding  characters  of  our  race  alwayjf 


78  C  R  E  A  T  I  O  N     OF    THE     MARSHALS. 

spring  from  the  middle  and  lower  classes.  All  re 
formers  also  start  there,  and  they  always  must,  for  not 
only  is  their  sight  clearer  and  their  judgment  more 
just,  but  their  earnest  language  is  adapted  to  th€ 
thoughts  and  sympathies  of  the  many.  Those  men 
also  who  rise  to  power  through  themselves  alone,  feel 
it  is  by  themselves  alone  they  must  stand ;  hence  thi 
impelling  motive  is  not  so  much  greatness  to  be  wou 
as  the  choice  between  it  and  their  original  nothing 
ness.  Bonaparte  was  aware  of  this,  and  of  all  his 
generals  who  have  gone  down  to  immortality  with 
him,  how  few  were  taken  from  the  upper  classes. 
Augereau  was  the  son  of  a  grocer,  Bernadotte  of  an 
attorney,  and  both  commenced  their  career  as  private 
soldiers.  Bessieres,  St.  Cyr,  Jourdan,  and  the  fiery 
Junot,  all  entered  the  army  as  privates.  Kleber  M;U 
an  architect ;  the  impetuous  Lannes  the  son  of  a  poo) 
mechanic ;  Lefevre,  Loison,  and  the  bold  Scotchmai. 
Macdonald,  were  all  of  humble  parentage.  The  vic- 
torious Massena  was  an  orphan  sailor  boy,  and  the 
reckless,  chivalric  Murat,  the  son  of  a  country  land- 
lord. Yictor,  Suchet,  Oudinot,  and  the  stern  and 
steady  Soult,  were  each  and  all  of  humble  origin,  and 
commenced  their  ascent  from  the  lowest  step  of  Fame's 
ladder.  And  last  of  all,  NEY,  the  "  bravest  of  the 
brave,"  was  the  son  of  a  poor  tradesman  of  Sarre 
Louis. 

Immediately  on  the  assumption  of  supreme  power, 
Napoleon  created  eighteen  Marshals,  leaving  two  va' 
cancies  to  be  filled  afterwards.  Four  of  these  were 
honorary  appointments,  given  to  those  whc  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves  in  previous  battles,  and  were 
now  reposing  on  their  laurels  as  members  of  th< 
Senate.  The  other  fourteen  were  conferred  on  Gen 


MARSHAL     BERTHIER.  79 

erals  destined  for  active  service,  but  in  reward  oi 
their  former  deeds.  The  first  four  were  Kellerman, 
Lefevre,  Periguin,  and  Serruier.  The  fourteen  active 
Marshals  were  Jourdan,  Berthier,  Massena,  Lannes, 
Ney,  Augereau,  Brime,  Murat,  Bessieres,  Moncey, 
Mortier,  Soult,  Davoust,  and  Bernadotte.  Kleber 
and  Desaix,  were  dead,  both  killed  on  the  same  day, 
one  in  Egypt,  and  the  other  at  Marengo,  or  they  would 
have  been  first  on  this  immortal  list. 

All  these  had  been  active  Generals,  and  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves  by  great  deeds,  and  won  their 
renown  by  hard  fighting,  except  Berthier.  Their 
honours  were  the  reward  of  prodigies  of  valour,  and 
exhibitions  of  heroism  seldom  surpassed.  Berthier 
alone  obtained  his  appointment  for  his  services  in  the 
Btaff,  and  partly,  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  for  his  per- 
sonal attachment  to  Napoleon.  Without  any  merit 
as  a  military  leader,  he  still  deserves  a  place  among 
the  distinguished  Marshals  of  the  Empire,  for  his  inti- 
mate relationship  with  Napoleon. 

Alexander  Berthier  was  born  at  Versailles,  on  the 
20th  of  November,  1753.  His  father  was  coast  sur- 
veyor to  Louis  XYL,  and  acquired  great  reputation  for 
his  skill  in  this  department.  Young  Berthier  naturally 
became  proficient  in  mathematical  studies — was  a 
capital  surveyor  and  excelled  in  drawing.  Though 
filling  the  situation  in  his  father's  office  with  a  faith- 
fulness and  ability  that  promised  complete  success  in 
his  profession,  he  nevertheless  preferred  the  army.  By 
his  father's  connection  with  government,  he  was  ena- 
bled to  obtain  a  commission  at  the  outset  in  the  dra- 
goons, and  as  Lieutenant  in  Rochambeau's  staff,  came 
to  the  United  States ;  and  served  during  the  war  of  the 
American  Revolution.  I  know  of  no  act  of  his,  dur 


80  HI8EAKLYCAKKER. 

ing  this  time,  worthy  of  note.  He  had  none  of  the 
daring  and  intrepidity  so  necessaiy  to  form  a  good 
commander.  At  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution, 
he  was  an  officer  in  the  National  Guards,  and  stood  firm 
to  the  royal  cause  till  the  Guards  themselves  went 
over,  when  he  himself  became  a  fiery  republican. 
He  was  Chief  of  the  Staff  in  the  first  campaigns  of 
the  Republic,  on  the  Rhine  and  Northern  Frontier, 
and  though  faithful  and  efficient  in  the  discharge  of 
his  duties,  received  no  promotion.  Not  having  suff. 
cient  energy  and  force  to  distinguish  himself  by  any 
Drilliaut  exploit,  he  obtained  merely  the  reputation 
of  being  a  faithful  officer.  In  the  first  campaign  in 
Italy,  he  was  quarter-master  to  Kellerman  ;  but  when 
Bonaparte  took  command  of  the  army,  he  made  him 
Chief  of  his  Staff,  and  promoted  him  to  the  rank  of 
Major-General. 

From  that  time  on,  for  eighteen  years,  he  scarce 
ever  left  the  side  of  Bonaparte.  We  find  him  with 
him  on  the  sands  of  Egypt,  and  amid  the  snows  of 
Russia  :  by  the  Po,  the  Rhine,  the  Danube,  and  the 
Niemen,  and  admitted  to  an  intimacy  that  few  were 
allowed  to  enjoy.  It  seems  natural  for  a  strong, 
powerful  mind  to  attach  itself  to  a  weak  one ;  for  its 
desire  is  not  so  much  for  sympathy  and  support,  as 
for  the  privilege  of  relaxing  and  unbending  itself 
without  impairing  its  dignity,  or  exposing  its  weak- 
nesses. Berthier  seemed  to  place  no  restraint  on  him. 
He  had  such  a  thorough  contempt  for  his  intellect, 
and  knew  in  what  awe  and  reverence  he  held  him, 
that  his  presence  relieved  his  solitude  without  destroy- 
ing it  It  is  true,  Berthier's  topographical  knowledge, 
and  his  skill  in  drawing  maps  and  charts,  and  in  ex- 
plaining them,  made  him  indispensable  to  Bonaparte* 


MARSHAL     BEKTHIEB.  81 

who  relied  so  much  on  these  things  in  projecting  hij 
campaigns.  Especially  as  the  channel  through  which 
all  his  orders  passed,  he  became  more  necessary 
to  him,  than  any  other  single  officer  in  the  army. — 
Yet,  Berthier  was  admitted  into  privacies  to  which 
none  of  these  relations  gave  him  a  claim.  When  it 
was  necessary  for  Bonaparte  to  be  in  the  open  air  for 
a  long  time,  early  in  the  morning,  or  late  at  evening, 
a  huge  lire  was  always  built  by  the  Chasseurs,  to  which 
he  allowed  no  one  to  approach,  unless  to  feed  it  with  fuel, 
except  Berthier.  Backwards  and  forwards,  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  he  would  walk — his  grave  and 
thoughtful  face  bent  on  the  ground — until  the  signals 
were  made  of  which  he  was  in  expectation,  when  he 
would  throw  off  his  reserve,  and  call  out  to  Berthier, 
<(  To  horse." 

Bonaparte's  travelling  carriage,  a  curiosity  in  itself, 
was  arranged  as  much  for  Berthier,  as  for  himself. — • 
Notwithstanding  the  drawers  for  his  despatches,  and 
his  portable  library,  he  had  a  part  of  it  partitioned  off 
for  the  latter.  True,  he  did  not  give  him  half,  nor 
allow  him  the  dormeuse,  on  which  he  himself  could 
recline  and  refresh  himself.  But  Berthier  was  content 
even  with  the  privilege  allowed  him,  though  it  fur- 
nished him  anything  but  repose,  for  Bonaparte  made 
use  of  the  time,  in  which  his  cortege  was  sweeping  like 
a'  whirlwind  along  the  road,  to  examine  despatches, 
arid  the  reports  of  the  positions,  &c.  As  he  read 
be  dictated  his  directions,  which  Berthier  jotted 
down,  and,  at  the  next  stopping  place,  tilled  out,  witli 
a  precision  that  satisfied  even  his  rigorous  master. 
Methodical  in  all  he  did — doing  nothing  in  confusion — 
the  rapid  hints  thrown  out  by  Napoleon,  assumed  a 

symmetry  and  order  under  his  pen,  that  required  on 

5* 


82  HIS     MIND     MECHANICAL. 

explanation,  and  scarce  ever  needed  an  alteration.  It 
this  department  he  was  almost  as  tireless  as  Napo- 
leon himself.  He  would  write  all  night,  with  a  clear- 
ness of  comprehension,  and  an  accuracy  of  detail, 
that  was  perfectly  surprising.  Apparently  without 
the  mental  grasp  and  vigour  necessary  to  comprehend 
the  gigantic  plans  he  filled  out  with  such  admirable 
precision ;  he  nevertheless  mapped  them  down  as  if 
they  had  been  his  own.  A  hint  from  Napoleon  was 
sufficient  for  him ;  for  so  accustomed  had  he  become 
to  the  action  of  his  mind,  that  he  could  almost  antici- 
pate his  orders.  He  had  lived,  and  moved,  and 
breathed  so  long  in  the  atmosphere  of  that  intellect, 
that  he  became  a  perfect  reflector  to  it.  He  knew  the 
meaning  of  every  look  and  gesture  of  the  Emperor, 
and  a  single  glance  would  arrest  him,  as  if  it  had  the 
power  to  blast.  At  the  battle  of  Eylau,  when  Au- 
gereau's  shattered  ranks  came  flying  past  him,  pur- 
sued by  the  enemy,  Napoleon  suddenly  found  himself. 
\\dth  only  his  staff  about  him,  in  presence  of  a  column 
of  four  thousand  Russians.  His  capture  seemed  in- 
evitable, for  he  was  on  foot,  and  almost  breast  to 
breast  with  the  column.  Berthier  immediately,  in 
great  trepidation,  called  out  for  the  horses.  Napoleon 
gave  him  a  single  look,  which  pinned  him  as  silent 
in  his  place,  as  if  he  had  been  turned  into  stone.  In- 
stead of  mounting  his  horse,  he  ordered  a  battalion 
of  his  guard  to  charge.  The  audacious  column  paused, 
and  before  it  could  recover  its  surprise,  six  battalions 
of  the  Old  Guard,  and  Murat's  Cavalry,  were  upon 
it,  rending  it  to  pieces.  So  perfectly  mechanical  was 
his  mind,  that  it  was  impossible  to  confuse  him  by 
tlie  rapid  accumulation  of  business  on  his  hands.  He 
was  among  papers,  what  Bonaparte  was  on  a  batt'< 


MARSHAL     BERTHIER.  83 

field — always  himself;  clear-headed  arid  correct, 
bringing  order  out  of  confusion,  in  a  manner  that  de- 
lighted his  exacting  master.  Bonaparte  appreciated 
this  quality  in  his  Major-General,  and  tasked  it  to 
the  utmost.  He  once  said  that  this  was  the  guat 
merit  of  Bcrthier,  and  of  "inestimable  importance" 
to  him.  "  No  other  could  possibly  have  replaced  him.' 
The  services  he  performed,  were  amply  rewarded 
by  making  him  Marshal  of  the  Empire,  grand  hunts- 
man, Prince  of  Neufchatel,  and  Prince  of  Wagram. 
Yet,  such  a  low  opinion  did  Napoleon  have  of  this 
Prince's  and  Marshal's  character,  that  he  once  said, 
"  Nature  has  evidently  designated  many  for  a  subordi- 
nate situation  ;  and  among  them  is  Berthier.  As  Chief 
of  the  Staff,  he  had  no  superior ;  but  he  was  not  fit  to 
command  five  hundred  men."  From  this  intimate  re- 
lationship with  Napoleon,  however,  and  all  the  orders 
coming  through  his  hands,  many  began  to  think  that 
he  was  the  light  of  Napoleon's  genius.  "  Napoleon 
and  Berthier"  were  coupled  so  constantly  in  men's 
mouths,  that  they  began  to  be  joined  in  praise  by  those 
who  knew  neither  personally,  and  there  might,  to  this 
day,  have  been  a  great  difference  of  opinion  respecting 
his  merit,  if  he  had  never  attempted  anything  more 
than  to  obey  orders. 

Still  Berthier  showed  at  times  ability,  which  brought 
on  him  the  commendations  of  the  Commander-in-Chie£ 
At  Lodi,  Arcola,  and  indeed  throughout  the  first  cam 
paign  of  the  young  Bonaparte,  he  behaved  with  so 
much  bravery,  and  brought  such  aid  to  the  army,  that 
he  was  most  honourably  mentioned  in  the  reports  to  the 
Directory. 

On  Bonaparte's  return  to  Paris,  after  his  victorious 
campaign  in  Italy,  Berthier  was  left  in  command  01 


84  M  A  K  C  (I     I  N  T  O     B  O  M  E  . 

the  army.  Not  long  after,  in  an  enieute  in  Rome,  tin 
French  Legation  was  assailed,  and  the  young  General 
Duphet  killed,  which  brought  an  order  from  the  Direc- 
tory to  Berthier  to  march  on  the  city.  Arrived  at  the 
gates  of  the  home  of  the  Caesars,  the  soldiers  were 
transported  with  enthusiasm ;  and  they,  with  the  repub- 
lican citizens,  conducted  Berthier  through  the  Porta  di 
Popolo,  in  triumph  to  the  capital,  as  the  victorious  gen- 
erals of  old  were  wont  to  be  borne.  The  intoxicated 
multitude,  thinking  the  days  of  ancient  glory,  when 
Rome  was  a  republic,  had  returned,  sung  the  following 
memorable  hymn  as  they  carried  him  towards  the 
capital : 

Remain  leve  les  yeux  :  la  fut  le  Capitole ; 

Ce  pont  est  le  pont  du  Cocles 
Ces  chadons  sont  converts  des  cendres  de  Scevole, 

Lucrece  dort  sous  ces  cypres 
Ma  Brutus  immola  la  race  ; 

Ici  s'engloutit  Curtius ; 
Et  Cesar  a  eette  autre  place 

Fut  poignarde  par  Cassius. 
Rome,  la  liberte  t'appele ! 

Romp  tes  fers,  ose  t'affranchir ; 
Un  Remain  dort  libre  pour  elle, 

Pour  elle  un  Roniain  dort  Mourir. 

Te  Deum  was  chanted  in  St.  Peter's  by  fourteen  car- 
dinals, and  the  old  Roman  form  of  government  pro- 
claimed in  the  ancient  forum. 

But  he  was  no  sooner  installed  in  his  place,  than  he 
began  to  practice  such  extortion  and  pillage,  that  even 
his  own  officers  broke  out  in  open  complaints  against 
him ;  and  he  had  to  leave  the  army,  and  set  out  for 
Paris. 

He  was  one  of  those  selected  by  Bonaparte  to  ac- 
company him  to  Egypt.  Berthier  could  not  bear  to 
leave  his  "beloved  General's"  side  :  but,  though  forty 


MARSHAL     BERTHIEE.  85 

tiiree  years  of  age,  he  had  conceived  such  a  violent 
passion  for  one  Madame  Yisconti,  that  it  quite  cipset 
his  weak  intellect,  and  drove  him  into  paroxysms  oi 
grief,  when  he  thought  also  of  leaving  the  object  of  his 
passion.  He  hastened  to  Toulon,  and  told  Bonaparte 
that,  he  was  sick,  and  could  not  go ;  and  requested  to 
be  left  behind.  But  his  prayers  and  tears  fell  on  a 
heart  that  had  no  sympathy  with  such  nonsense,  and 
he  was  forced  to  set  sail.  The  long,  tedious  voyage — 
the  separation  of  so  many  thousand  miles — the  new 
and  glorious  field  to  honour  and  fame  which  Egypt 
jpread  out  before  him,  could  not  drive  the  image 
of  his  dear  Visconti  from  his  mind.  He  had  a  tent 
placed  beside  his  own  fitted  up  in  the  most  elegant 
style,  in  which  was  suspended  the  portrait  of  this 
lady.  Here,  "  the  chief  of  the  staif  of  the  army  of 
Egypt"  would  retire  alone,  and  prostrating  himself 
before  it,  indulge  in  the  most  passionate  expressions  of 
love  and  grief,  and  went  so  far  at  times  even  as  to 
burn  incense  to  it,  as  if  it  were  a  goddess,  and  he  an 
ignorant  devotee.  At  Alexandria,  his  grief  became 
so  intense  that  he  besought  Bonaparte  to  allow  him 
to  return.  Finding  it  impossible  to  drive  this  absurd 
passion  from  the  turned  head  of  his  Major-G-eneral, 
he  at  length  granted  his  request.  Poor  Berthier  bade 
his  commander  a  solemn  farewell,  and  departed.  In 
a  few  hours,  however,  he  returned,  his  eyes  swimming 
in  tears,  saying,  after  all,  he  could  not  leave  his  "be- 
loved General." 

He  accompanied  Bonaparte  in  his  return  to  France 
and  with  Lannes  and  Murat,  was  his  chief  reliance 
and  confidant  in  his  plans  to  overturn  the  Directory. 
After  the  establishment  of  the  Consular  system,  and 
his  own  appointment  as  First  Consul,  Napoleon  did 


80  M  A   It  I!  I  A  O  E     OF     H  E  R  T  II  I  E  K  . 

not  forget  the  services  ot  Berthier,  but  gave  to  him 
the  Portfolio  of  War.  He  bestowed  on  him  also,  at 
different  times,  large  sums  of  money,  which  might  as 
well  have  been  thrown  in  the  Seine,  as  to  all  good  they 
did  this  imbecile  spendthrift.  On  one  occasion,  he 
presented  him  with  a  magnificent  diamond  worth 
Dearly  twenty  thousand  dollars,  saying,  "  Take  this ; 
we  frequently  play  high :  lay  it  up  against  a  time  ot 
need."  In  a  few  hours  it  was  sparkling  on  the  head  of 
his  lady-love. 

This  mad  passion,  outliving  separation,  change,  and 
all  the  excitements  of  the  camp  and  battle-field, 
was  doomed  to  a  most  bitter  disappointment.  At  the 
urgent  request  of  Napoleon,  he  finally  married  a  prin- 
cess of  Bavaria.  But  scarcely  was  the  marriage 
consummated,  when,  as  if  on  purpose  to  complete  his 
despair,  the  husband  of  Madame  Visconti  died.  This 
was  too  much  for  Berthier.  Cursing  his  miserable  fate, 
lie  hastened  to  Napoleon,  overcome  with  grief,  exclaim- 
ing, "  What  a  miserable  man  I  am  !  had  I  been  only  a 
little  more  constant,  Madame  Visconti  would  have  been 
my  wife." 

I  remarked  before  that  Berthier  might  possibly  have 
passed  for  a  good  general,  had  he  not  gratuitously 
revealed  his  own  weakness  to  the  eyes  of  Europe. — • 
At  the  opening  of  the  campaigns  of  Abensberg, 
Landshut,  and  Echrnuhl,  Napoleon  despatched  him 
fo  the  head  quarters  of  the  army,  with  definite  direc- 
tions— the  sum  of  which  was,  to  concentrate  all  the 
forces  around  Ratisbon,  unless  the  enemy  made  an 
attack  before  the  15th,  in  which  case  he  was  to  con- 
centrate them  on  the  Lech,  around  Donauwerth. 
Oerthier  seized  with  some  wonderful  idea  of  his  own, 
Instead  of  carrying  out  the  Emperor's  orders  to  tlif 


MARSHALBERTHIEK.  87 

very  letter,  as  he  had  ever  before  done,  acted  directly 
contrary  to  them.  Instead  of  concentrating  the  army, 
he  scattered  it.  The  Austrians  were  advancing,  and 
the  notion  instantly  seized  him  of  executing  a  prodi- 
gious feat,  and  of  stopping  the  enemy  at  all  points. 

Massena  and  Davoust,  commanding  the  two  prin- 
cipal corps  of  the  army,  he  separated  a  hundred  miles 
from  each  other,  while  at  the  same  time  he  placed 
Lefebvre,  Wrede,  and  Oudinot  in  so  absurd  a  position, 
that  these  experienced  generals  were  utterly  amazed. 
Davoust  became  furious  at  the  folly  of  Berthier 
— told  him  he  was  dooming  the  army  to  utter 
destruction,  while  Massena  urged  his  strong  remon- 
strarce  against  this  suicidal  measure.  As  he  was 
acting  under  Napoleon's  orders,  however,  they  were 
compelled  to  obey  him,  though  some  of  the  Marshals 
declared  that  he  was  a  traitor,  and  had  been  bribed 
to  deliver  up  the  army.  Nothing  but  the  slowness  of 
the  Archduke's  advance  saved  them.  His  army  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  men  could,  at  this 
juncture,  have  crushed  them  almost  at  a  blow,  if  it 
had  possessed  one  quarter  the  activity  Napoleon  soon 
after  evinced.  While  affairs  were  in  this  deplorable 
state,  and  Berthier  was  in  an  agony  at  his  own  folly, 
and  utterly  at  loss  what  to  do,  Napoleon  arrived  at 
head-quarters.  He  was  astounded  at  the  perilous  peti- 
tion in  which  his  army  was  placed. 

His  hasty  interrogations  of  every  one  around  Um, 
soon  placed  the  condition  of  the  two  armies  clearly 
before  him ;  and  his  thoughts  and  actions,  rapid  as 
lightning,  quickly  showed  that  another  spirit  was  at 
the  head  of  affairs.  Officers  were  despatched  hither 
and  thither  on  the  fleetest  horses — Berthier's  orders 
were  all  countermanded,  and  the  concentration  of  the 


88  HIS     INABILITY     TO     COMMAND. 

army  was  effected  barely  in  time  to  save  it.  Immedi 
ately  on  his  arrival  at  Donauwerth,  he  despatched  a 
note  to  Berthier,  saying,  "  What  you  have  done  ap- 
pears so  strange,  that  if  I  was  not  aware  of  your 
friendship,  I  should  think  you  were  betraying  me. 
Davoust  is  at  this  moment  more  completely  at  the 
Archduke's  disposal,  than  my  own."  Davoust  waa 
also  perfectly  aware  of  this,  but  thought  only  of  ful- 
filling his  orders  like  a  brave  man.  In  speaking  of  thia 
afterward,  Napoleon  said — "  You  cannot  imagine  in 
what  a  condition  I  found  the  army  on  my  arrival,  and 
to  what  dreadful  reverses  it  was  exposed  if  we  had  to 
deal  with  an  enterprising  enemy.  I  shall  take  care 
that  I  am  not  surprised  again  in  such  a  manner." 
The  chief  of  the  staff  was  never  after  suspected  of  be- 
ing anything  more  than  a  mere  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  the  Emperor. 

The  change  that  passed  over  the  French  army  was 
instantaneous,  and  the  power  of  intellect  and  genius 
working  with  lightning-like  rapidity,  was  never  more 
clearly  seen  than  in  the  different  aspect  Napoleon  put 
on  affairs  in  a  single  day.  Under  his  all-pervading, 
all-embracing  spirit,  order  rose  out  of  confusion,  and 
strength  out  of  weakness.  Had  an  Austrian  General 
committed  such  a  blunder  in  his  presence,  as  Berthier 
did  in  the  face  of  the  Archduke  Charles,  he  would 
have  utterly  annihilated  him. 

It  it  useless  to  follow  Berthier  through  the  long 
campaigns,  in  which  he  never  quitted  the  Emperor's 
side,  as  he  only  now  and  then  appears  above  the  sur- 
face, and  then  merely  as  a  good  chief  of  the  staff,  and 
a  valuable  aid  in  the  cabinet  with  his  topographical 
knowledge.  He  waa  with  him  in  his  last  efforts  to 
save  Paris  and  his  throne.  He,  with  Caulincourt 


MARSHAL     BEKTHIEK. 

was  by  his   side  in  that  gloomy  night  when,  in  his 
haste  to  get  to  his  capital,  he  could  not  wait  for  his 
carnage,  but  walked  on  foot  for  a  mile,  chafing  like  a 
fettered  lion.     They  were   the   only  auditors    of  thai 
terrible  soliloquy  that  broke  from  his  lips  as  he  strode 
on   through    the    darkness.     Just   before,  when   news 
was  brought   that  Paris   had  capitulated,  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face  as  he  turned  to  Caulincourt  and  ex- 
claimed— "  Do  you  hear  that  f"  was  enough  to  freeze! 
one  with  horror ;    but  now  his  sufferings  melted  the 
leart  with  pity.     Paris  was  illuminated  by  the  innu- 
merable  watch-fires   that    covered   the    heights,    and 
around  it  the  allied  troops  were  shouting  in  unbounded 
exultation    over   the   glorious  victory  that    compensa- 
ted them  for  all  their  former  losses  ;  while  but  fifteen 
miles  distant,  on  foot,  walked   its  king   and   emperor 
through  the  deep  midnight — his  mighty  spirit  wrung 
with  such  agony  that  the  sweat  stood  in  large  drops 
on  his  forehead,  and  his  lips  worked  in  the  most  pain  • 
ful    excitement.     Neither    Berthier    nor    Caulincourt 
dared  to  interrupt   the  rapid   soliloquy  of  the  fallen 
Emperor,  as  he  muttered  in  fierce  accents,  "  I  burned 
the  pavement — my  horses  were  swift  as  the  wind,  but 
still  I  felt  oppressed  with  an  intolerable  weight ;  some- 
thing extraordinary  was  passing  within  me.     I  asked 
them  to  hold  out  only  twenty-four  hours.     Miserable 
wretches   that    they   are !      Marmont,   too,   who   had 
sworn  that  he  would  be  hewn  in  pieces,  rather  than 
surrender !   And  Joseph  ran  off,  too — my  very  brother ! 
To   surrender   the   capital    to    the   enemy — what  pol- 
troons!    They  had  my  orders;   they  knew   that,  orj 
the  2d  of  April,  I  would  be  here  at  the  head  of  sev 
cnty   thousand  men!      My   brave  scholars,  my  Na 
tional  Guard,  who  had  promised  to  defend  my  son 


90  NAPOLEON'S   SOLILOQUY. 

all  men  with  a  heart  in  their  bosoms,  would  have 
joined  to  combat  at  my  side !  And  so  they  have 
capitulated,  betrayed  their  brother,  their  country,  their 
sovereign — degraded  France  in  the  sight  of  Europe  i 
Entered  into  a  capital  of  eight  hundred  thousand 
eoulsi,  without  firing  a  shot!  It  is  too  dreadful!  That 
comes  of  trusting  cowards  and  fools.  When  I  am 
not  there,  they  do  nothing  but  heap  blunder  on  blun- 
der. What  has  been  done  with  the  artillery  ?  They 
should  have  had  two  hundred  pieces,  and  ammunition 
foi  a  month.  Every  one  has  lost  his  head  ;  and  yet 
Joseph  imagines  that  he  can  lead  an  army,  and  Clarke 
is  vain  enough  to  think  himself  a  minister ;  but  I  be- 
gin to  think  Savary  is  right,  and  that  he  is  a  traitor ;" 
then  suddenly  rousing  himself,  as  if  from  a  troubled 
dream,  and  as  if  unable  to  believe  so  great  a  disaster, 
he  turned  fiercely  on  Caulincourt  and  Berthier  and 
exclaimed,  "  Set  off,  Caulincourt ;  fly  to  the  allied  lines ; 
penetrate  to  head  quarters ;  you  have  full  powers ; 
FLY  !  FLY  !"*  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Berthier  and 
Caulincourt  could  persuade  him  that  the  capitulation 
had  been  concluded.  Yielding  at  length  to  the  irre- 
versible stroke  of  fate,  he  turned  back,  joined  his  car- 
riages, and  hastened  to  Fontainblcau,  where  he  arrived 
a  little  after  sunrise. 

That  was  a  gloomy  day  for  him  ;  and  while  he  wa@ 
pondering  on  his  perilous  position,  endeavouring  to. 
piorce  the  night  of  misfortune  that  now  enveloped  him, 
Paris  was  shaking  to  the  acclamations  of  the  multi- 
tude, as  the  allied  armies  defiled  through  the  streets, 
Caulincourt  had  been  sent  off  to  make  terms  with  the 
victors,  but  nothing  would  do  but  Napoleon's  abdica- 
ion — and  he  was  forced  to  resign.  Then  commenced 

*  Vide  Caulincourt  and  Alison. 


M  A  R  8  H  A  I.     B  K  11  T  II  I  K  R  .  9] 

the  shameful  desertion  of  his  followers,  which  broke 
his  great  heart,  and  drove  him  in  his  anguish  to  at- 
tempt the  destruction  of  his  life.  Among  these  feeble 
and  false-hearted  men,  was  Berthier.  Napoleon  was 
a  crownless,  throneless  man,  without  an  army — with- 
out favour,  or  the  gifts  they  bring — and  Berthier  had 
no  longer  any  motive  for  attaching  himself  to  him, 
except  that  of  honour  and  noble  affection — both  of 
which  he  was  entirely  destitute  of.  Afraid  to  turn 
^raitor  before  his  benefactor's  face,  he  asked  permis- 
sion to  go  to  Paris  on  business,  promising  to  return 
the  next  day.  When  he  had  left,  Napoleon  turned  to 
the  Duke  of  Bassano,  and  said,  "  He  will  not  re- 
turn." «  What !"  replied  the  Duke,  "  can  Berthier 
take  such  a  farewell?"  "  He  will  not  return,"  calmly 
replied  Napoleon.  "  He  was  born  a  courtier.  In  a 
few  days  you  will  see  my  Vice  Constable  begging  an 
appointment  from  the  Bourbons.  It  mortifies  me  to 
eee  men  I  have  raised  so  high  in  the  eyes  of  Europe, 
sink  so  low.  What  have  they  done  with  that  halo  oi 
glory,  through  which  men  have  been  wont  to  contem 
plate  them?"  He  was  right;  Berthier  returned  no 
more.  Too  mean  to  entertain  or  even  act  a  noblu 
sentiment — and  yet  with  sufficient  conscience  t)  feel 
the  glaring  ingratitude  and  baseness  of  his  treachery, 
and  fearing  to  confront  the  man  who  had  elevated  him 
to  honour,  and  heaped  countless  benefits  on  his  head  ; 
lie  shrunk  away  like  a  thief,  to  kiss  the  foot  of  a 
Bourbon.  A  few  days  after,  he  presented  himself  at 
the  head  of  the  Marshals  before  Louis  XYIIL,  saying 
— "France  having  groaned  for  the  last  twenty-five 
years  under  the  weight  of  the  misfortunes  which  op- 
pressed her,  had  looked  forward  to  the  happy  day 
which  now  shines  upon  her."  This  infamous  false 


tf2  HICDEATH. 

hood,  crowning  his  base  treason,  ingratitude,  and 
blasphemy  ;  was  uttered  within  one  week  after  he  had 
sworn  to  Bonaparte  he  would  never  desert  him,  what- 
ever adversity  might  befal  him.  "When  the  Bourbon 
king  made  his  public  entry  into  Paris,  Berthier  was 
seen  riding  in  front  of  the  carriage  in  all  the  pomp  oi 
his  new  situation.  But  even  the  common  people  could 
not  witness  the  disgrace  this  companion  and  private 
friend  of  Napoleon  put  on  'human  nature,  in  silence. 
As  he  rode  along,  reproachful  voices  met  his  ear, 
saying,  "  Go  to  the  island  of  Elba,  Berthier !  go  to 
Elba !"  There  was  his  place.  Honour,  gratitude, 
affection,  manhood — all  called  him  there,  but  called 
in  vain.  A  seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Peers,  and  a  com- 
mand in  the  king's  body  guard,  were  the  price  he 
received  for  covering  himself  with  infamy  in  the  sight 
of  the  world. 

But  his  baseness  was  doomed  tu  receive  another 
reward,  for  the  next  year  Napoleon  was  again  ii 
France.  As  Louis  withdrew  to  Ghent,  Berthie) 
wished  to  accompany  him ;  but  the  king  had  suffi 
cient  penetration  to  see  that  one  who  had  deserted  hi.1 
greatest  friend  and  benefactor  in  the  hour  of  adversity, 
would  not  be  slow  to  betray  him  /  and  hence  intimated 
that  he  could  dispense  with  his  company.  Trusted 
by  no  one,  he  retired  to  Bomberg,  in  his  father-in-law's 
dominions.  Here,  on  the  19th  of  May,  1815,  he  waa 
seen  leaning  out  of  the  window  of  his  hotel,  as  the 
allies  were  defiling  past,  in  their  retreat  from  France. 
A  moment  after,  his  mangled  body  was  lifted  from 
the  pavement,  where  it  lay  crushed  and  lifeless  at  the 
very  feet  of  the  Russian  soldiers.  Some  say  he  was 
thrown  out  by  the  soldiers  themselves;  others,  that 
lie  leaped  purposely  from  the  window  to  destroy  him- 


MARSHAL     BERTHIER.  93 

self.  His  death  is  shrouded  in  mystery  ;  bat  the  com- 
mon belief  is,  that,  Judas-like,  stung  with  remorse  and 
sl-iiaie  for  his  treachery,  and  finding  himself  deserted 
by  his  new  master,  and  fearing  the  vengeance  of  his 
old  one ;  he  took  this  method  of  ending  a  life  which 
had  become  burdensome,  and  added  to  all  his  other 
crimes,  that  of  suicide. 

But  he  need  not  have  feared  Bonaparte — the  latter 
held  him  in  too  great  contempt  to  make  him  an  object 
of  vengeance,  and  was  heard  to  say,  on  his  march  to 
Paris,  "  The  only  revenge  I  wish  on  this  poor  Ber- 
thier,  would  be  to  see  him  in  his  costume  of  Captain 
of  the  body-guard  of  Louis."  He  knew  that  he  would 
writhe  under  his  smile  of  contempt,  more  than  under 
the  stroke  of  a  lance. 

Berthier  wrote  a  history  of  the  expedition  into 
Egypt,  and  if  he  had  survived  Napoleon,  would  pro- 
bably have  given  an  account  of  his  piivate  life,  which 
would  have  added  much  tc  the  facts  already  collected. 


m. 


jttAKSHAL  AUGEREAU. 

.t'is  Early  Life  and  Character — His  Campaigns  in  Italy — Battle  of 
Castiglione — Battle  of  Arcola — Revolution  of  the  18th  Fructidor — 
Charge  at  Eylau — His  traitorous  Conduct  and  Disgrace. 

THERE  is  very   little  pleasure    in  contemplating    a 
character  like  that  of  Augereau,  especially  when  ouc 
is  led,  from  his  rank  and  titles,  to  expect  great  qua- 
lities.    Augereau  had  simple  bravery,  nothing  more 
to  render  him  worthy  of  a  place  amid  the   Marshal* 
of  the  Empire.     He  was  not  even  a  second-rate  man 
in   anything,   but   courage;    and  there  he  had  no  su 
perior.     As   a  fierce  fighter — one  whose  charge  wa*> 
like  a  thunderbolt,  and  whose  tenacity  in  the  midst 
of  carnage,  and  ruin,  nothing  seemed  able  to  shake — 
he   was  worthy   to   command   beside   Massena,   Key, 
Lannes,  Davoust,  and  Murat — but  there  the  equality 
ended.     lie  owed   his   Marshal's   baton  not   so  much 
to  his  Generalship  as  to  his  having  served  in  Bona- 
parte's first  campaigns  in  Italy,  and    helped,  by  his 
bravery,   to    lay  the   foundation-stone   of  the    young 
Corsican's  fame.      Napoleon,    in    the    height  of    his 
power,  did  not  forget  the  young  chiefs,  with  whom  he 
won  his  first  laurels,  and  to  whose  unsurpassed  valour 
lie  owed  the  wondrous  success  of  his  first  campaigns. 
It  was  with  such   men   as  Mnrat,   Massena,   Lannes, 
r,  and  Augereau,  that  he  conquered  four  armies: 


MARSHAL     AUGER  KAU.  £ 

each  large  as  his  own.  With  all  his  genius,  he  could 
have  accomplished  so  much  with  no  other  men.  In 
those  rapid  and  forced  marches — those  resistless  on- 
sets, and  in  that  tireless  activity,  without  which  he 
was  i  lined — these  men  were  equal  to  his  wishes  and 
his  wants.  Massena  and  Augereau  were  among  the 
first  of  these  fiery  leaders,  and  astonished  Europe  by 
the  brilliancy  of  their  exploits.  Bonaparte,  in  his 
letter  to  the  Directory,  calls  him  "  the  brave  A  u- 
gcreau."  At  Lodi,  Castiglione,  and  Arcola,  he  won  his-- 
Ducal  title,  and  his  Marshal's  staif. 

Born,  November  14th,  1757,  in  the  Fauxbourg  St. 
Marceau,  of  Paris,  the  son  of  a  grocer,  Pierre- 
Francois-Charles  Augereau  always  retained  the 
marks  of  his  origin.  Living  in  a  democratic  quarter 
of  the  city,  and  sprung  from  a  democratic  stock,  he 
was  as  thorough  a  Jacobin  as  ever  outraged  humanity. 

Of  an  adventurous,  ardent  spirit,  he  left  Paris  when 
a  mere  youth,  and  entered  the  army  of  the  King  ol 
Naples  as  a  common  soldier.  Finding  nothing  to  do, 
and  apparently  nothing  to  gain  in  the  service  ;  he  left 
it  in  mingled  disappointment  and  disgust.  Poor  and 
without  fiends,  he  taught  fencing  in  Naples,  as  a 
means  of  support,  and  remained  there  till  he  was 
thirty-five  years  of  age.  But  the  all-powerful  Revolu- 
tion, which  dragged  into  its  vortex  every  stern  and 
fierce  spirit  France  possessed,  soon  hurried  him  into 
scenes  more  congenial  to  his  tastes.  Being  compelled 
to  leave  Naples,  in  1792,  by  the  edict  of  the  King, 
which  forced  all  Frenchmen  of  Revolutionary  princi- 
ples out  of  the  kingdom ;  he  returned  to  Paris,  and 
enlisted  as  a  volunteer  in  the  army  of  the  Pyrenees. 
Here  he  had  a  clear  field  for  his  daring,  and  soon 
won  himself  a  reputation  that  secured  his  rapid  pro- 


8b  NAPOLEON. 

motion.  When  he  entered  the  army  as  a  volunteer,  lit 
was  thirty-five  years  of  age — at  thirty-eight  he  found 
himself  Brigadier-General,  and  in  two  years  more 
General  of  Division.  Foremost  in  the  place  of  dan- 
ger—-resistless  in  the  onset,  he  had  acquired  a  repu- 
tation for  daring,  that  made  him  a  fit  companion  for 
Napoleon  in  his  Italian  campaigns.  Though  so  much 
older  than  the  Commander-in-Chief,  he  soon  learned 
to  bow  to  his  superior  genius  ;  and  followed  him  with 
a  courage  and  fidelity  that  did  not  go  unrewarded. 

I  have  often  imagined  the  first  interview  between 
the  young  Bonaparte  and  the  veteran  Generals  ol 
the  army  of  Italy.  There  were  Rampon,  Massena. 
and  Augereau,  crowned  with  laurels  they  had  woii 
on  many  a  hard-fought  field.  Here  was  a  young 
man,  sent  to  them  as  their  Commander-in-Chief,  only 
twenty-seven  years  of  age.  Pale,  thin,  with  a  stoop  in 
his  shoulders,  his  personal  appearance  indicated  any- 
thing but  the  warrior.  And  what  else  had  he  to  re- 
commend him  ?  He  had  directed  some  artillery  suc- 
cessfully against  Toulon,  and  quelled  a  mob  in  Paris, 
and  that  was  all.  He  had  no  rank  in  civil  matters — 
indeed,  had  scarcely  been  heard  of — and  now,  a  mere 
stripling,  without  experience,  never  having  conducted 
an  army  in  his  life ;  he  appears  before  the  two  scarred 
Generals,  Massena  and  Augereau,  both  nearly  forty 
years  of  age,  as  their  Commander-in-Chief.  When 
calied  to  pay  their  first  visit  to  him.  on  his  arrival, 
they  were  utterly  amazed  at  the  folly  of  the  Directory 
The  war  promised  to  be  a  mere  farce.  Young  Bona- 
parte, whose  quick  eye  detected  the  impression  he 
had  made  on  them,  soon,  by  the  firmness  of  his  man 
ner,  and  his  vigour  of  thought,  modified  their  feelings. 
At  the  Council  of  War,  called  to  discuss  the  proper 


MARSHAL     AUGEKEAU.  1>7 

mode  of  commencing  hostilities,  Rampon  volunteered 
a  great  deal  of  sage  advice— recommended  circum- 
spection and  prudence,  and  spoke  of  the  experienced 
Generals  that  were  opposed  to  them.  Bonaparte 
istened,  full  of  impatience,  till  he  was  through ;  and 
then  replied,  in  his  impetuous  manner,  "  Permit  me, 
gentlemen,  with  all  due  deference  to  your  excellent 
observations,  to  suggest  some  new  ideas.  The  art  of 
war,  rest  assured,  is  yet  in  its  infancy.  For  many 
ages  men  have  made  war  in  a  theatrical  and  effeminate 
manner.  Now  is  not  the  time  for  enemies  mutually 

m 

to  appoint  a  place  of  combat,  and  advancing,  with 
their  hats  in  hand,  say,  "  Gentlemen,  will  you  have  the 
goodness  to  fore"  We  must  cut  the  enemy  in  pieces — 
precipitate  ourselves  like  a  torrent  on  their  battalions, 
and  grind  them  to  powder ;  that  is,  bring  back  war 
to  its  primitive  state — fight  as  Alexander  and  Csesar 
did.  Experienced  Generals  conduct  the  troops  op- 
posed to  us  ! — So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better ! 
It  is  not  their  experience  that  will  avail  them  against 
me.  Mark  my  words,  they  will  soon  burn  their  books 
on  tactics,  and  know  not  what  to  do.  *  *  *  *  The 
system  I  adopt,  is  favourable  to  the  profession  of 
arms ;  every  soldier  becomes  a  hero ;  for  when  men 
are  launched  forward  with  impetuosity,  there  is  no 
time  for  reflection,  and  they  will  do  wonders.  Yes, 
jrentlemen,  the  first  onset  of  the  Italian  army  will 
give  birth  to  a  new  epoch  in  military  affairs.  As  for 
us,  we  must  hurl  ourselves  on  the  foe  like  a  thunderbolt, 
and  smite  like  it.  Disconcerted  by  our  tactics,  and  not 
daring  to  put  them  in  execution,  they  will  fly  before  us 
as  the  shades  of  night  before  the  uprising  sun"  The 
manner  and  tone,  in  which  this  was  said,  and  that 
eloquence,  too,  which  afterwards  so  frequently  elec- 


98  n  1  S      1C  N  K  II  G  Y      AND     ENDURANCE. 

trilled  the  soldiers;  took  the  old  Generals  by  surprise 
and  Au<o:reau  and  Massona  turned  to  each  other  with 

o 

significant  looks ;  and  Rampon,  after  he  had  gone  out, 
remarked,  "  Here  is  a  man  that  will  yet  cut  out  work 
for  government." 

Such  feelings  and  bold  projects,  suited  well  the 
impetuous  and  daring  Augereau,  and  Bonaparte  could 
not  have  had  a  better  General  in  the  kind  of  war  ho 
was  to  wage.  Where  it  was  to  be  marching  all  night, 
and  fighting  all  day,  for  days  in  succession — and 
one  must  be  equal  to  three,  by  the  rapidity  of  his  move- 
ments, and  the  force  of  his  onsets — Augereau  was 
just  the  man.  There  was  little  room  for  the  exhibi- 
tion of  military  tactics,  on  the  part  of  the  several 
Commanders.  The  whole  theatre  of  war  was  under 
the  immediate  inspection  of  Bonaparte.  He  planned 
and  directed  every  thing,  without  going  through  even 
the  form  of  calling  a  Council  of  War.  His  officers 
had  simply  to  obey  orders — and  to  a  man,  like  Auge- 
reau, who  could  never  reason,  but  was  great  in 
action — this  was  the  very  field  for  him  to  win  fame  in. 
There  was  little  room  for  mistakes,  except  on  the 
field  of  battle,  and  he  made  few  there.  Tell  him  to 
storm  such  a  battery — cross  such  a  river,  in  the  midst 
of  a  murderous  fire,  or  force  such  a  wing  of  the  army, 
and  he  would  do  it,  if  it  was  to  be  done.  His  soldiers 
loved  him  with  devotion,  and  would  follow  him  into 
any  danger.  His  activity  and  rapidity  of  motion, 
together  with  his  tireless  energy,  also  rendered  him  a 
powerful  ally  to  Bonaparte.  In  campaigns  where 
such  velocity  of  movement  was  necessary,  in  order 
to  compensate  for  numbers,  that  the  army  seemed  en- 
dowed with  wings,  flying  from  point  to  point,  to  the 
utter  astonishment  of  the  enemy  ;  and  an  endurance 


MARSHAL     AUGEBEATT. 

Wits  demanded  that  could  cope  with  that  of  Bona- 
parte, who  seemed  made  of  iron ;  Augereau  was  at 
home.  In  the  first  battle  of  Montenotte,  we  find 
him  fighting  beside  the  young  Corsican,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  battle,  left  in  command,  with  instructions 
to  renew  the  attack  in  the  night.  But  not  yet  fully 
understanding  the  spirit  that  headed  the  army,  he  neg 
lected  to  obey  the  order,  and  hence  lost  a  great  ad- 
vantage. A  few  days  after  he  assailed  the  Pied- 
montese,  at  Millessimo,  and  won  that  bloody  battle. 
With  such  fury  did  he  charge  them,  and  so  terrible 
was  the  shock,  that  every  pass  leading  into  Piedmont 
was  forced  ;  and  in  the  hurry  and  tumult  of  the  over- 
throw, their  General  was  driven,  for  self-preservation, 
with  ten  thousand  men,  into  an  old  and  impregnable 
castle.  Around  this  structure,  Augereau  formed  his 
columns,  and  marched  boldly  up,  to  carry  it  by  as 
sault.  Then  commenced  one  of  those  struggles  o1 
knightly  days.  The  assailants  rained  down  stones  and 
rocks,  and  missiles  of  every  description,  which  bore 
away  whole  companies  at  a  time.  Amid  the  cries  and 
shouts  of  the  assailants,  and  the  falling  of  the  stones, 
the  combat  raged,  till  night  closed  the  scene.  In  the 
morning,  Provera,  the  Piedmontese  commander,  was 
compelled  to  surrender. 

Piedmont  was  humbled,  and  entered  into  a  treaty 
with  Bonaparte.  In  the  two  engagements  at  Castig- 
lione,  he  fought  one  alone,  and  one  with  Bonaparte; 
and  earned  the  title  of  Duke  of  Castiglione,  which  the 
Emperor  afterwards  bestowed  on  him.  Bonaparte 
advanced  with  Massena  on  Lonato,  and  sent  Auge 
reau  to  drive  the  Austrians  from  the  heights  of  Cas- 
tiglione. The  latter  had  driven  General  Yalette  from 
them  the  day  before ;  and  Augereau  was  sent  to 


1 00  BATTLE    OF    OA8TIGL1ONE. 

retake  them.     Valette,  though  he  fought  with  an  ob- 
stinacy that  would  have  honoured  an  Austrian,  had 
not  resisted  with  the  courage  that  must   animate  the 
army  of  Italy,   if  it  would  not  be   lost.     It   was  no 
common  firmness    that    could    resist   the    successive 
shocks  to  which  it  was  exposed.     While  one  was  com- 
pelled to  fight  two,  and  as  he  beat  them,  ever  fight 
other  two — a  courage  and  tenacity  were  needed  that 
no  ordinary   assault   could   overcome.     Bonaparte,  in 
his  fierce  rides  to   and  fro  to  different  parts  of  the 
army,  had  killed  five  horses  in  a  few  days.     He  himself 
had  planned  the  campaigns — fought  at  the   head    oi 
the  columns — marched  all  night,  and  battled  all  next 
day — bivouacked   with  the    common  soldier",  and  ate 
his  coarse  bread — passed  sleepless  nights  and  anxious 
days — and  to  have  an  important  post  yielded  because 
assailed  by  superior  force,  was  an  example,   which, 
if  followed,  would  insure  his  overthrow — and  he  made 
an  example  of  Valette  to  the  whole  army.     He  broke 
him  in  presence  of  his  own  troops  and  all  the  officers  ; 
thus    stamping    him    with   everlasting    disgrace.     He 
wished  to  impress  on  his  officers  and  men,  that  he 
expected    desperate    deeds    of     them,    and     nothing 
else   would    satisfy  him.     No  sooner  was   this   done, 
than  he  sent  Augereau    to   retake   the  lost  heights. 
Burning  with  rage  at  the  disgrace  Yalette  had  brought 
on  the  French  arms,  he  departed  with  exultation  on 
his  dangerous  mission.     Never  would  he  be  broke  in 
the  presence  of  his  soldiers  for  want  of  courage.     Bo 
naparte  might  break  his  sword  above  his  grave — but 
never  fix  the  stain  of  cowardice   on  his  name.     He 
reached  Castiglione  as  Bonaparte  arrived  at  Lonato. 
Burning   with  impatience,  he   formed  his   men   into 
columns,  and  rushed  to  the  assault     Then  commenced 


MAK8HAI      AUGEKEAU.  101 

of  the  most  terrible  days  of  Augereau 's  life. 
Placing  himself  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  he  moved 
up  the  slope,  and  entered  the  storm  of  grape  shot  that 
swept  the  hill-side.  His  smitten  columns  staggered 
before  it  —  then  closed  up  their  rent  ranks,  and 
marched,  with  a  shout  of  defiance,  forward.  But 
when  they  came  within  range  of  the  musketry  alsc, 
the  double  storm  was  too  severe  to  withstand ;  and 
they  recoiled  before  it.  Augereau  rallied  them  again 
to  the  attack,  and  the  brave  fellows  joyfully  entered 
the  destructive  fire  over  the  dead  bodies  of  their  com- 
panions ;  but  the  overwhelming  force  of  such  supe- 
rior numbers,  and  such  commanding  and  powerful 
batteries  were  too  much  for  human  energy ;  and  again 
the  army  slowly  and  reluctantly  swung  back  its 
bleeding,  mangled  form  down  the  hill.  Augereau, 
begrimed  with  powder  and  smoke,  and  enraged  at  the 
defeats  he  endured,  seemed  to  court  death.  Where 
the  balls  fell  thickest,  there  was  he  fighting  in 
front  of  his  men ;  and  where  the  storm  raged  fiercest 
he  was  seen  sternly  breasting  it.  Again  and  again 
did  he  lead  his  exhausted  and  diminished  army  to 
the  perilous  assault ;  and  there  in  the  midst  of  whole 
companies  that  fell  at  every  discharge,  cheer  on  the 
soldiers.  Amid  the  dead  and  the  dying,  he  moved 
that  day  like  a  spirit  of  the  infernal  world.  He  seem- 
impervious  to  bullets ;  while  the  fierce  purpose  of 
his  heart,  to  carry  those  heights  or  leave  his  crushed 
army,  and  his  own  body  upon  them,  imparted  to  hia 
aspect  and  his  movements,  a  desperation  that  told  his 
men  that  victory  or  annihilation  was  before  them, 
For  the  last  time  he  lead  them  to  the  assault — the 
heights  were  carried,  amid  deafening  cheers — and  the 
French  standards  wared  from  the  summit.  Auge 


102     SECOND     BATTLE     OF     CA8TIGLION*-. 

reau's  brow  cleared  up;  and,  as  he  looked  off  Irom 
the  spot  of  victory,  he  saw  Bonaparte  hastening  tc 
his  relief.  The  heart  of  this  veteran  swelled  with 
pride  as  he  received  the  commendations  of  the  young 
commander-in-chief.  Bonaparte  never  forgot  this 
battle  ;  and  years  after,  when  a  captive  on  the  isle  of 
St.  Helena,  he  said,  "  Ah  1  that  was  the  most  fa'illiant 
d<iy  of  Augereau's  life." 

BATTLE   OF   CASTIGLIONE. 

A  few  days  after,  the  second  battle  of  Castiglione 
was  fought,  and  Italy  again  put  up  as  the  mighty 
stake.  The  two  armies  stood  perpendicular  to  a 
range  of  hills  that  crossed  the  plain  on  Bonaparte's 
left.  On  these  heights  the  left  wing  of  the  French 
and  the  right  of  the  Austrians  rested,  while  the  two 
armies  stretched  in  parallel  lines  out  into  the  plain 
All  night  long  had  Bonaparte  been  riding  among  his 
troops  to  arrange  them  for  the  coming  conflict,  and 
when  c'aylight  first  broke  over  the  eastern  hills,  he 
saw  Serruerier's  division  approaching  the  field  of 
buttle.  The  action  then  commenced  on  the  heights 
where  Massena  commanded.  The  two  armies,  inac- 
tive on  the  plain  below,  turned  their  eyes  upon  the 
hillside  where  volumes  of  smoke  were  rising  in  the 
morning  air ;  and  the  incessant  roll  of  musketry  amid 
strains  of  martial  music,  told  where  their  companions 
were  struggling  in  the  encounter  of  death.  Augereau 
commanded  the  centre  in  the  plain,  and  as  he  watched 
the  firing  along  the  heights,  his  impatient  spirit  could 
scarcely  brook  the  inaction  to  Hvhich  he  was  doomed. 
At  length  he  received  the  welcome  orders  to  charge 
The  onset  was  tremendous,  and  though  the  Austrians 
— being  superior  in  numbers  by  one-third — resisted 


MARSHAL     AUGEREAU.  103 

bravely,  they  were  at  length  forced  to  yield  to  tho 
shock.  The  whole  line  along  the  heights  and  throng! 
the  plaii  bent  backward  in  the  struggle,  and  finally 
turned  in  full  retreat.  The  victory  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  French,  but  the  soldiers  were  too  weary  to 
urge  the  pursuit.  The  sun  was  stooping  to  the  west- 
ern horizon  when  the  combat  was  done,  and  the  ex- 
hausted army  slept  on  the  field  of  battle.  For  daya 
they  had  marched  and  combated  without  cessation, 
and  human  endurance  could  go  no  further.  Even  Bo- 
naparte was  worn  out,  for  his  slender  frame  had  been 
tasked  to  the  utmost,  and  his  thin  features  looked  hag- 
gard and  wan.  He  had  galloped  from  division  to  divi- 
sion over  the  country,  superintending  every  movement 
and  directing  every  advance ;  for  he  would  trust  no- 
body with  his  orders,  since  the  slightest  mistake  would 
ruin  him.  Nothing  but  lofty  genius,  combined  with 
ceaseless  energy  and  the  most  tireless  activity,  could 
have  saved  his  army.  It  is  said,  that  during  these 
six  days  he  never  took  off  his  boots,  or  even  lay  down. 
A  week  of  such  mental  and  physical  excitement,  with- 
out one  moment's  interval  of  repose,  was  enough  to 
shatter  the  most  iron  constitution  ;  and  it  is  no  won- 
der he  is  to  and  writing  to  the  Directory  that  his 
strength  is  gone,  and  all  is  gone  but  his  courage. 
"With  thirty  thousand  men  he  had,  in  these  six  days, 
defeated  sixty  thousand — killed  and  taken  prisoners 
two-thirds  the  number  of  his  own  army,  and  aston- 
ished the  world  by  his  achievements. 

The  next  day  Augereau  was  pressing  after  the  fly- 
ing enemy,  and  entered  Yerona  in  triumph.  A  few 
weeks  after,  he  and  Massena  fought  their  way  into 
Bassano  together,  through  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  leav 
intr  the  ground  without,  covered  with  the  dead  Bo 


104  FIELD     OF     BA88ANO. 

naparte  arrived  at  night  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  as. 
he  was  spurring  his  horse  through  the  corpses  that 
strewed  the  ground,  a  dog  leaped  out  from  under  the 
cloak  of  his  dead  master,  and  barked  furiously  at  him. 
He  would  now  lick  his  unconscious  master,  then  stop 
to  bark  at  Napoleon,  and  again  return  to  his  caresses. 
The  silence  of  the  mournful  scene,  broken  so  abruptly 
l»y  this  faithful  dog — the  strength  of  his  attachment 
outliving  that  of  all  other  friends,  and  showing  himseli 
here  on  the  field  of  the  dead — and  the  picture  of  that 
affectionate  creature  lavishing  its  unheeded  caresses 
on  the  hand  that  should  feed  it  no  more — produced 
an  impression  on  his  heart  that  he  never  forgot,  and 
affected  him  more  than  that  of  any  other  battle  scene 
of  his  life.  But  perhaps  Augereau  never  appeared  to 
greater  advantage  than  at  the 

BATTLE  OF  AKCOLA. 

Bonaparte,  wearied  by  continual  fighting — ex- 
hausted by  his  very  victories — was  with  his  army  ot 
fifteen  thousand  men  at  Yerona,  when  a  fresh  Aus- 
trian army  of  more  than  thirty  thousand  suddenly 
appeared  before  the  town.  His  position  was  desper- 
ate, and  his  ruin  apparently  inevitable.  The  soldiers 
murmured,  saying,  "  After  destroying  two  armies,  we 
are  expected  to  destroy  also  those  from  the  Rhine." 
Complaints  and  discouragements  were  on  every  side ; 
but  in  this  crisis,  Napoleon,  without  consulting  any 
one,  took  one  of  those  sudden  resolutions  that  seem 
the  result  of  inspiration.  In  the  rear  of  the  Austrians 
was  a  large  marsh,  crossed  by  two  long  causeways,  and 
on  these  he  determined  to  place  his  army.  Cross- 
ing the  Adige  twice  during  the  night,  the  morning 
saw  lu's  army  in  two  divisions, — one  under  Massena. 


MARSHAL     AUGEBEAT).  105 

and  the  other  under  Augereau, — stretched  in  two  mas- 
sive columns  on  these  two  dykes,  while  on  every  side 
of  them  was  a  deep  marsh.  This  daring  and  con- 
summate stroke,  none  but  the  genius  of  Bonaparte 
would  ever  have  conceived,  or  dared  to  have  adopted, 
if  proposed.  Along  these  narrow  causeways  num- 
bers gave  no  advantage ;  everything  depended  on  the 
courage  and  firmness  of  the  heads  of  the  columns. 
With  Augereau  and  Massena  to  lead  on  his  own,  he 
had  no  doubt  of  success.  Augereau,  leading  his 
column  a]ong  the  causeway  on  which  he  was  posted, 
came  up  to  the  Adige  and  bridge  of  Arcola — on  the 
opposite  side  of  which  was  the  town  of  Arcola — and 
attempted  to  force  it.  But  the  tremendous  fire  that 
Kwept  it,  almost  annihilated  the  head  of  the  column, 
.md  it  fell  back.  It  was  then  he  performed  the  daring 
ieed,  which  Bonaparte  on  his  arrival  imitated. 
Seeing  his  men  recoil  before  the  fire,  he  seized  a  stand 
of  colours,  and  bidding  his  men  follow  after,  rushed 
on  the  bridge  and  planted  them  in  the  midst  of  the 
iron  storm.  With  a  loud  and  cheering  shout,  the 
brave  troops  again  rushed  to  the  charge ;  but  nothing 
could  withstand  that  murderous  fire.  The  head  of  the 
column  sunk  on  the  bridge,  and  Augereau  himself, 
overthrown,  was  borne  back  in  the  refluent  tide  of  his 
followers. 

Soon  after,  the  Austrians,  under  Mitronski,  attacked 
him  in  turn  upon  the  dyke  ;  but  after  a  fierce  struggle 
he  repulsed  them,  and  chasing  them  over  the  bridge; 
again  attempted  to  pass  it.  But  though  the  column 
advanced  with  the  utmost  intrepidity  into  the  volcano 
that  blazed  at  the  farthest  extremity,  the  fire  was  too  se- 
-ere  to  withstand,  and  it  again  recoiled,  and  the  soldiers 
threw  themselves  down  behind  the  dyke  to  escape  thf 


10(5  r.  A  T  1  L  K     OF     AROOLA. 

balls.  At  this  critical  juncture,  Bonaparte,  who  deem 
ed  the  possession  of  Arcola  of  vital  importance,  cairn 
up  on  a  furious  gallop.  Springing  from  his  horse,  he 
hastened  to  the  soldiers  lying  along  the  dyke,  and 
asking  them  if  they  were  the  conquerors  of  Lodt 
seized  a  standard,  as  Augereau  had  done,  and  ex 
claiming,  "Follow  your  General!"  advanced  through 
the  hurricane  of  grape-shot  to  the  centre  of  the 
bridge,  and  planted  it  there.  The  brave  grenadiers 
pressed  with  level  bayonets  close  after  their  intrepid 
leader;  but  unable  to  endure  the  tempest  of  lire 
which  the  hotly-worked  battery  hurled  in  their  faces, 
they  seized  Bonaparte  in  their  arms,  and  trampling 
over  the  dead  and  dying,  came  rushing  back 
through  the  smoke  of  battle.  But  the  Austrians 
pressed  close  after  the  disordered  column,  and  drove  it 
into  the  marsh  in  the  rear,  where  Bonaparte  was  left 
up  to  his  arms  in  water.  But  the  next  moment,  finding 
their  beloved  chief  was  gone,  the  soldiers  cried  out, 
over  the  roar  of  battle,  "  Forward,  to  save  your  Gen- 
eral !  Pausing  in  their  flight,  they  wheeled  and 
charged  the  advancing  enemy,  and  driving  them  back 
over  the  morass,  bore  off  in  triumph  the  helpless  Na- 
poleon. In  this  deadly  encounter  of  the  heads  ol 
columns,  and  successive  advances  and  repulses,  the  dyy 
wore  away  and  the  shades  of  a  November  night  parted 
the  combatants.  The  Austrians  occupied  Arcola, 
while  the  French  retired  to  Ronco,  or  sunk  to  rest 
in  the  middle  of  the  causeways  they  had  held  with 
such  firmness  during  the  day.  The  smoke  of  the  guns 
spread  itself  like  a  mist  over  the  marsh,  amid  which 
the  dead  and  the  dying  lay  together.  In  the  morn- 
ing the  strife  again  commenced  on  this  strange 
field  of  battle — two  causeways  in  the  midst  of  6 


MARSHAL     A  U  G  E  R  E  A  U  .  10'j 

march.  The  Austrians  advanced  in  two  columns 
along  them,  till  they  reached  the  centre,  -when  the 
French  charged  with  the  bayonet,  and  routed  them 
with  prodigious  slaughter — hurling  them  in  the 
Bhock  by  crowds,  from  the  dyke,  into  the  marsh 
The  second  day  passed  as  the  first,  and  when  night 
returned,  the  roar  of  artillery  ceased,  and  Bona- 
parte slept  again  on  the  field  of  battle.  The  third 
morning  broke  over  this  dreadful  scene,  and  the 
diminished,  wearied  armies,  roused  themselves  for  a 
last  great  effort.  Massena  charging  on  the  run, 
cleared  his  dyke  ;  while  the  left  hand  one,  after  a  des- 
perate encounter,  was  also  swept  of  the  enemy,  and 
Arcola  evacuated.  Bonaparte  now  thinking  the 
enemy  sufficiently  disheartened  and  reduced,  to  allow 
him  to  hazard  an  engagement  in  the  open  field,  de- 
ployed his  army  into  the  plain  across  the  Alpon, 
where  the  two  armies  drew  up  in  order  of  battle. 
Before  the  signal  for  the  onset,  he  resorted  to  a  stra- 
tagem, in  order  to  give  force  to  his  attack.  He  sent 
twenty-five  trumpeters  through  a  marsh  of  reeds 
that,  reached  to  the  left  wing  of  the  Austrians,  with 
orders  to  sound  the  charge  the  moment  the  combat 
oecame  general.  He  then  directed  Massena  and  Au 
gereau  to  advance.  With  an  intrepid  step  they 
moved  to  the  attack,  but  were  met  with  a  firm  re 
nistance,  when  all  at  once  the  Austriaus  heard  a  loud 
blast  of  trumpets  on  their  flank,  as  if  a  whole  division 
of  cavalry  was  rushing  to  the  charge.  Terror- 
btricken  at  the  sudden  appearance  of  this  new  foe, 
they  gave  way  and  fled.  At  the  same  time  the 
French  garrison  of  Legnagno,  in  the  rear,  issuing 
forth,  by  order  of  Napoleon,  and  opening  their  fire 
upon  the  retiring  ranks,  completed  the  disorder,  an  J 


108  I'  II  K  S  K  N  T  A  T  I  O  N     OF     COLOURS. 

the  bloody  battle  of  Arcola  was  won.     Augereau 
Massena    were    the   two   heroes   of  this    hard-fought 
field. 

Tliis  was  in  November — the  next  January  the 
battle  of  Rivoli  took  place,  and  while  Napoleon  and 
Massena  were  struggling  on  the  heights,  Augereau 
was  pressing  the  rear  guard  of  the  Austrians,  who 
had  come  between  him  and  the  blockading  force  ol 
Mantua.  He  had  taken  1500  prisoners,  and  fourteen 
cannon,  and  was  still  straining  every  effort  to  arrest 
the  danger  that  was  threatening  the  troops  around 
the  town,  when  Bonaparte  arrived  from  the  field  ot 
victory  with  reinforcements  ;  and  Mantua  fell. 

In  these  astounding  victories,  Augereau  appears  as 
one  of  the  chief  actors.  When  all  the  other  Generals 
arere  wounded,  he  and  Massena  stood,  the  two  pillars 
of  Napoleon's  fortune.  To  carry  out  successfully 
his  system  of  tactics — requiring  such  great  activity, 
tirmness,  and  heroism — Augereau  was  all  he  could 
wish.  Beloved  by  his  soldiers,  he  could  hurl  them  into 
any  danger,  and  hold  them  firm  against  the  most  over- 
whelming numbers. 

After  the  fall  of  Mantua,  he  was  sent  to  Paris  to 
present  to  the  Directory  sixty  stands  of  colours,  the 
fruits  of  the  recent  victories.  His  heroic  conduct  had 
paved  the  way  for  a  cordial  reception  ;  and  the  Di- 
rectory had  already  honoured  him,  by  presenting  to 
him  and  Bonaparte  the  colours  each  had  carried  at 
Arcola,  at  the  head  of  his  grenadiers,  and  planted  or 
the  centre  of  the  bridge  in  the  midst  of  the  fire, 

The  presentation  of  the  colours  was  a  magnificent 
sight.  They  were  carried  by  sixty  old  veterans,  who 
bore  them  along  with  the  pride  and  martial  bearing 
of  youthful  heroes  Augereau  placed  his  father  and 


MARSHAL     AUOEREAU.  109 

mother  beside  him,  notwithstanding  their  low  origin 
while  one   of  his   brothers   acted   as  his  aid-de-camp. 
The  son  had   returned  covered  with  glory,  and  they 
were  called  in  to  share  it. 

The  next  June  he  was  again  sent  to  Paris  for  a 
double  purpose;  first,  and  chiefly  to  get  him  out 
of  the  army,  where  his  violent  republican  principles 
were  fomenting  disorder.  With  peace  and  idleness, 
came  the  discussion  of  political  subjects  among  the 
soldiers,  and  Augereau  showed  himself  a  thorough 
Jacobin.  The  second  object,  was  to  sustain  the  Di- 
•ectory,  which  was  threatened  with  overthrow.  Au- 
gereau was  delighted  with  this  mission ;  for  he  loved 
the  strife  of  faction  as  much  as  he  did  the  combat  of 
the  field,  though  much  less  fitted  for  it.  He  made 
nimself  ridiculous  at  once.  To  be  in  Paris,  which  he 
first  left  a  poor  boy,  as  a  victorious  general — flattered 
on  every  side  by  eulogies  and  public  entertainments — 
turned  his  head,  and  he  went  about  bragging  of  hia 
exploits,  and  boasting  that  he  had  taught  Bonaparte 
the  art  of  war — indeed  originated  those  brilliant  plans 
to  which  the  latter  owed  his  victories.  Jle  frightened 
his  best  friends,  all  but  Barras,  who  liked  to  see  hin 
among  the  Jacobins,  uttering  his  ultra-revolutionarj 
principles.  There  was  no  taming  him  by  reason,  foi 
Augereuu  was  incapable  of  serious  thought,  and  so 
they  approached  him  through  his  vanity.  At  length 
lie  became  a  little  more  circumspect,  and  was  ap- 
pointed to  the  command  of  the  17th  Military  Division, 
of  Paris.  As  Commander-in-chief  he  soon  played  an 
important  part  in  the  political  affairs  of  the  Capital. 
The  Revolution  of  the  18th  Fructidor,  was  effected 
by  him.  All  had  been  prepared  on  the  evening  of 
the  17th,  and  at  midnight  the  inhabitants  of  Paris 


1  10     REVOLUTION     OF     1   8  T  H     FRUCTIDOR 


ro  alarmed,  by  seeing  twelve  thousand  soldiers,  will 
Augereau  at  their  head,  inarching  towards  the  palace 
of  the  Tuileries.  There  was  no  commotion,  no  apparent 
cause  for  this  extraordinary  military  display  ;  yet  all 
night  long  was  heard  the  steady  tramp  of  soldiers,  and 
the  heavy  rumbling  of  artillery,  over  the  pavements. 
At  length  a  solitary  cannon,  the  signal  gun,  sent  its 
roar  over  the  breathless  city,  calling  to  mind  the  nights 
when  the  loud  peal  of  the  tocsin,  and  the  beat  of  the 
alarm  drum,  roused  up  the  multitude  to  scenes  oi 
violence  and  blood.  Immediately  the  troops  approached 
the  gates  of  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  and  ordered 
them  to  be  opened.  The  guards  refused,  and  there  was 
preparation  for  resistance,  when  Augereau  appeared 
with  his  staff. 

Ramel,  the  commandant,  notwithstanding  the  defec 
tion  among  his  troops,  still  showed  a  disposition  to 
resist,  when  Augereau  thus  addressed  him:  "Comman- 
dant Ramel,  do  you  recognize  me  Chief  of  the  17th  Mili- 
tary Division  ?"  "  Yes,"  replied  Eamel.  "  Well,  then, 
as  your  superior  officer,  I  command  you  to  place  your- 
self under  arrest."  He  immediately  obeyed.  At  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  deputies  were  prisoners,  and 
the  revolution  effected. 

For  the  management  of  this  affair,  which  Augereau 
attributed  to  his  own  cleverness,  he  expected  and 
sought  a  seat  in  the  Directory.  He  expostulated  arid 
threatened,  but  the  Directors  had  used  him  all  they 
wished,  and  they  would  not  call  him  to  sit  among 
them.  He  had  no  other  resource  left,  but  to  get  a 
majority  of  the  vote  of  the  Councils  in  his  favour. 
Failing  in  this  also,  he  became  turbulent,  and  violent; 
and  finally,  as  a  last  resort,  the  Directory,  to  gel,  rid 
of  1  im,  appointed  him  to  the  command  of  the  army 


MARSHAL     AUGEREATJ.  Ill 

of  Germany,  a  post  left  vacant  by  the  death  of  Gen 
eral  Hache.  Enacting  the  fool  here  in  his  style  ot 
living,  and  the  outward  pretensions  he  exhibited 
he  finally  alarmed  the  Directory,  by  the  Jacobinical 
principles  he  was  disseminating  in  the  army,  and  the 
liscontent  he  spread  among  the  inhabitants ;  and 
was  deprived  of  his  command,  under  the  pretext  of 
sending  him  to  Perpignan,  to  collect  an  army  that  was 
destined  for  Portugal.  This  appointment  was  a  mere 
farce,  and  Augereau  was  to  all  intents  disgraced. 
In  1799,  he  was  elected  by  the  department  of  the  Upper 
Garonne,  as  a  member  of  the  council  of  Five  Hun- 
dred. 

When  Bonaparte  returned  from  Italy,  Augereau 
withdrew  from  him,  and  during  the  revolution  of  the 
18th  of  JBrumaire.  by  which  the  Directory  was  over- 
thrown, and  the  power  of  France  passed  into  the 
hai'ds  of  the  First  Consul;  he  stood  ready  to  take 
advantage  of  any  favorable  movements  to  place  him- 
self at  the  head  of  the  troops;  and  overwhelm  the 
hero  of  Egypt  and  his  friends.  As  things  began  to 
grow  dark  around  Napoleon,  in  that  most  critical  day 
of  his  life,  he  determined  to  go  to  the  two  Councils 
with  his  staff.  He  met  Augereau  on  the  way.  The 
latter  said  to  him  sarcastically,  "  There,  you  have  got 
yourself  into  a  pretty  plight."  "It  was  worse  at  Ar- 
cola,"  was  the  brief  reply  of  Bonaparte. 

The  establishment  of  the  Consular  government 
and  the  subsequent  brilliant  campaign  of  Marengo, 
wrought  a  wonderful  change  in  Augereau's  republican 
principles,  and  he  was  glad  to  pay  court  to  Napoleon  ; 
and,  for  his  timely  conversion,  was  restored  to  favour. 
In  1805,  '6,  in  Austria  and  Prussia,  he  exhibited  hi? 
old  valour.  At  Jena,  especially,  he  showed  Imnsoli 


I  1  *2  CHARGE     AT     EY  L  A  U. 

worthy  to  combat  beside  his  former  comrades  in  Italy 
Afterwards  at  Golymin,  Lechocqzin,  and  Landsberg 
though  fifty  years  of  age,  he  evinced  the  impetuosity 
and  firmness  of  his  early  days.  His  political  ambitiou 
bad  been  given  to  the  winds,  as  he  once  more  found 
himself  on  the  field  where  glory  was  to  be  won. 

The  next  year,  at  the  battle  of  Eylau,  he  commenced 
the  action,  and  exhibited  there  one  of  those  heroic 
deeds  which  belong  to  the  age  of  chivalry,  rather  than 
to  our  more  practical  times. 

CHARGE    AT  EYLAU. 

The  night  previous  to  the  battle,  he  had  lain  tossing 
jn  his  uneasy  couch — burned  with  fever,  and  tortured 
by  rheumatic  pains,  that  deprived  him  almost  of 
consciousness.  But  at  daylight,  the  thunder  of  can- 
non shook  the  field  on  which  he  lay.  The  tremendous 
batteries  on  both  sides,  had  commenced  their  fire, 
making  the  earth  tremble  under  their  explosions  as  if  a 
volcano  had  suddenly  opened  on  the  plain.  Augereau 
lay  and  listened  for  a  while  to  the  stern  music  his  soul 
had  so  often  beat  time  to — then  hastily  springing  from 
his  feverish  bed,  called  for  his  horse.  ILs  attendants, 
amazed  at  this  sudden  energy,  stood  stupified  at  the 
strange  order  ;  but  the  fierce  glance  of  the  chieftain 
told  them  that  he  was  not  to  be  disobeyed.  His  bat- 
tle steed  was  brought,  and  the  sick  and  staggering 
warrior  with  difficulty  vaulted  to  the  saddle.  Feel 
ing  his  strength  giving  way,  and  that  he  was  unable 
to  keep  his  seat,  he  ordered  his  servants  to  bring 
straps  and  bind  him  on.  They  obeyed,  and  strapped 
him  firmly  in  his  place,  when,  plunging  his  spurs  into 
his  steed,  he  flew,  in  a  headlong  gallop,  to  the  head  of 
his  corps.  His  sudden  appearance  among  his  sol 


MARSHAL     AUGEKE&.U.  113 

diers  animated  every  heart.  The  two  armies  were 
in  battle  array — the  trumpets  sounded,  and  amid  the 
furious  beat  of  drums,  and  roar  of  cannon,  Soult 
poured  his  mighty  columns  on  the  centre,  while  Au 
gereau,  at  the  head  of  sixteen  thousand  men,  charged, 
like  fire,  on  the  left.  Two  hundred  Russian  cannon 
swept  the  field  where  they  passed,  in  one  incessant 
shower  of  fire.  Whole  ranks  went  down  at  every 
discharge ;  for  the  heavy  shot  tore  through  Auge- 
reau's  dense  masses  with  frightful  efiect.  Still  the 
columns  closed  over  the  huge  gaps  made  in  them  and 
pressed  forward  to  the  assault.  But  suddenly,  while 
Augereau  was  cheering  on  his  men,  and  straining 
every  nerve  to  make  headway  against  the  desola- 
ting batteries,  a  snow  squall  darkened  the  air,  and 
swept  with  the  rush  of  a  whirlwind  over  the  two 
armies,  blotting  out  the  very  heavens.  So  thick  and 
fierce  was  the  driving  storm,  that  Augereau  could 
not  see  two  rods  ahead  of  him.  Both  armies  were 
snatched  from  his  sight  in  an  instant,  and  even  of  his 
own  men  none  but  those  directly  about  him  could  be 
seen.  In  a  moment  the  ground  was  white  with  snow, 
which  it  sifted  over  the  columns  as  if  silently  weav- 
ing their  funeral  shroud.  Baffled  and  confused,  not 
knowing  which  way  to  move,  they  staggered  blindly 
over  the  field.  Still  the  Russian  cannon,  previ- 
ously trained  on  the  spot,  played  furiously  through 
the  storm.  Unable  to  see  even  ihe  blaze  of  the 
discharge,  these  brave  soldiers  would  hear  the  muffled 
explosions  in  the  impenetrable  gloom,  and  then  be- 
hold their  ranks  mowed  through,  and  mangled,  as  it 
a  falling  rock  had  crushed  among  them.  In  the 
midst  of  this  awful  carnage — enveloped  by  the  blind- 
ing, driving  snow,  they  wero  suddenly  assailed  or 


1 14  K  O  U  T     O  F     H  I  S     C  O  L  U  M  N 

both  sides  by  infantry  and  cavalry,  in  the  midst 
of  the  uproar  of  nearly  a  thousand  cannon,  A.ugercau 
could  not  hear  either  the  tread  of  the  infantry,  or  the 
tramp  of  the  cavalry,  and  was  wholly  unaware  of 
thdr  approach.  The  Russians  had  marked  the  course 
of  the  columns  before  the  snow  squall  wrapped  them 
from  sight,  and  now  advanced  on  both  sides  to  crush 
them  to  pieces.  Without  warning  or  preparation,  the 
French  soldiers  suddenly  saw  the  long  lances  of  the 
Cossacks  emerge  from  the  thick  storm,  in  a  serried 
line,  in  their  very  faces ;  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  those  wild  horsemen  were  trampling  through 
their  ranks.  Before  this  terrible  tide  of  cavalry  and 
infantry  the  columns  sunk  as  if  engulphed  in  the 
earth.  The  hurried  commands  and  shouts  of  Auge- 
reau,  were  never  heard,  or  heard  in  vain.  Stil] 
bound  to  his  steed,  he  spurred  among  the  disordered 
troops — striving  by  his  voice  and  gestures,  and  more 
than  all,  by  his  daring  example,  to  restore  the  battle. 
But  wounded  and  bleeding,  he  only  galloped  over 
a  field  of  fugitives  flying  in  every  direction,  while  the 
Cossacks  and  Russian  cavalry,  sabred  them  down 
without  mercy.  Of  the  sixteen  thousand,  only  jifteen 
hundred  found  their  ranks  again.  Trampling  down 
the  dead  and  dying,  the  victorious  enemy  burst 
with  loud  hurrahs  into  Eylau,  and  even  into  the  pre- 
sence of  Napoleon  himself,  and  nearly  made  him  pris- 
oner. It  was  to  arrest  this  sudden  disorder,  that  Murat, 
with  his  fourteen  thousand  cavalry,  backed  by  the 
Imperial  Guard,  was  ordered  to  charge. 

The  wounded  Augereau  was  left  without  a  corps 
to  command,  and  sent  back  to  Paris,  in  order  to  re- 
cover his  health — the  author  of  the  "  Camp  and  Court 
of  Napoleon"  says — "  in  disgrace  to  gratify  a  fit  of 


MARSHAL     AUGEBEAU.  115 

spleen."  Says  that  author,  "Enraged  at  the  iudeci 
sive  result  of  the  day,  Napoleon  wrecked  his  spleen 
on  the  Marshal,  and  sent  him  home  in  disgrace.'' 
Whatever  might  be  the  disgrace,  the  cause  here  as- 
signed is  a  gratuitous  falsehood.  In  Napoleon's  bul 
letin  home — giving  an  account  of  the  battle  of  Eylau 
— he  speaks  of  Augereau  three  times ; — first,  to  de- 
acribe  the  sudden  snow  squall  that  blinded  his  army, 
causing  it  to  lose  its  direction,  and  grope  about  for 
half  an  hour  in  uncertainty ;  second,  to  make  men- 
tion of  his  wound;  and  finally,  to  say,  "the  wound 
of  Marshal  Augereau  was  a  very  unfavorable  acci- 
dent, as  it  left  his  corps,  in  the  very  heat  of  the  bat- 
tle, without  a  leader  to  direct  it."  In  a  bulletin  dated 
nineteen  days  after,  Augereau  is  again  mentioned  in 
the  following  terms:  "A  la  battaille  d'Eylau  le 
Marechal  Augereau,  convert  de  rheumatismes,  etait 
malade  et  avait  a  peine  connoisance ;  mais  le  cannon 
reveille  les  braves :  il  vole  au  galop  a  la  tete  de  son 
corps,  apres  s'etre  fait  attaches  sur  son  cheval.  II  a 
ete  constantement  expose  au  plus  grand  feu,  et  a 
meme  ete  legerement  blesse.  L'Empereur  vient  de 
1'autoriser  a  rentrer  en  France  pour  'y  soigner  sa  santo."* 
This  is  an  unique  mode  of  venting  one's  spleen  on  a 
man. 

Two  years  after  he  was  appointed  to  supercede  St, 
Cyr  in  Spain ;  then  besieging  Gerona.  Taken  sick 
in  his  route,  it  was  some  time  before  he  assumed  the 
command  of  the  army,  and  he  even  delayed  it  after 

*  At  the  battle  of  Eylau,  Marshal  Augereau,  covered  with  rheumatism,  lay  sick, 
md  almost  without  consciousness  ;  but  the  sound  of  cannon  awakens  the  brave.  He 
Hew  on  a  gallop  to  the  head  of  his  corps,  after  having  caused  himself  to  be  bound  to 
Uis  horse.  He  has  been  constantly  exposed  to  the  severest  fire,  and  has  been  lightly 
wounded  The  Emperor  grants  h?m  permission  to  return  to  France  to  attend  to  hU 
health. 


116  HIS    CONDUCT    AT    LYONS. 

lie  was  recovered.  He  saw  that  the  service  was  to  b* 
&  harassing  one;  requiring  gieat  efforts,  without 
yielding  much  glory.  At  length,  however,  he  tool* 
the  command  of  the  seige,  and  humanely  offered  an 
armistice  of  a  month,  provided  the  inhabitants  would 
surrender  at  the  termination  of  it,  should  no  army 
come  to  their  relief.  They  refusing  this  proposal,  he 
pressed  the  siege,  and  reduced  the  town.  His  whole 
management,  however,  in  the  Peninsula  ;  his  foolish 
proclamations,  and  useless  cruelties,  and  failures — 
show  the  little  real  strength  of  character  he  possessed. 
He  was  soon  recalled.  While  Napoleon  was  engaged 
in  the  Russian  expedition,  Augereau  remained  sta- 
tioned at  Berlin.  Although  he  was  an  admirable  lea- 
der of  a  division,  and  brave  in  the  hour  of  battle ; 
Napoleon  found  him  unfit  to  direct  an  army,  or  to  be 
entrusted  with  weighty  matters  in  a  great  campaign. 
The  truth  is,  Augereau's  rank  as  Marshal  entitled  hire 
to  a  command  he  was  not  able  to  fill — a  good  gen- 
eral, he  made  a  bad  marshal.  Nevertheless  in  the 
last  struggle  to  save  the  tottering  empire  of  France, 
he  fought  with  his  accustomed  valour.  Especially  at 
Leipzic  he  appears  in  his  former  strength  and  daring. 
Hastening  by  forced  marches  to  the  city,  scattering 
the  enemy  from  his  path  as  he  came,  he  arrived  in  time 
to  strike  once  more  for  Napoleon  and  his  throne. 
The  next  year  the  Emperor  entrusted  him  with  the 
defence,  of  Lyons,  with  the  order  to  hold  it  to  the  last 
extremity.  Arriving  at  the  city,  he  found  there  only 
seven  hundred  regular  troops,  and  a  thousand  Na- 
tional Guards,  while  twenty  thousand  Austrians  were 
marching  towards  it.  Knowing  he  could  not  oefend 
the  city  with  this  feeble  force,  he  hastened  to  Valence 


MARSHAL     AUGEKEAU.  11? 

in  the  south,  to  bring  up  reinforcements.  For  a 
while,  though  fifty  seven  years  old,  he  exhibited  the 
vigour  of  his  early  campaigns.  He  wrote  to  Napo- 
icon,  demanding  help,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
strained  every  nerve  to  strengthen  himself.  He  sen 
a  thousand  men  in  post  carriages  from  Yalence  in  a 
single  day.  This  was  the  last  spark,  however,  oi 
the  old  fire ;  for  though  reinforced  by  Napoleon  till 
his  army  numbered  twenty  thousand  men,  he  did  not 
follow  up  his  successes  as  he  ought,  and  contributed 
nothing  in  the  desperate  struggle  the  Emperor  was 
making  for  his  throne.  The  latter  wished  Augereau 
to  hover  on  the  rear  of  the  allied  army,  while  he 
dashed  against  it  in  front ;  but  all  his  orders  to  that 
effect  were  powerless  to  remove  the  torpor  that  had 
seized  his  energies.  He  said  he  was  afraid  to  trust 
his  troops,  as  they  were  inexperienced  soldiers,  &c. 
Napoleon,  in  reply,  told  him  to  forget  his  age,  and 
think  of  the  days  of  glory  when  he  fought  at  Castig- 
lione.  He  urged  him  to  move  his  troops  together  into 
one  column,  and  march  into  Switzerland.  Said  Clarke, 
writing  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  in  reply  to 
his  complaint  of  the  meagre  equipments  of  his  sol- 
diers, "  He  desires  me  to  tell  you  that  the  corps  of 
(rerard,  which  has  done  such  great  things  under  his 
oyes,  is  composed  entirely  of  conscripts  half  naked. 
He  has  at  this  moment,  four  thousand  National 
Guards  in  his  army  with  round  hats,  with  peasants' 
coats  and  waistcoats,  and  without  knapsacks,  armed 
with  all  sorts  of  muskets,  on  whom  he  puts  the  great- 
est value ; — he  only  wishes  he  had  thirty  thousand  of 
them?'  But  the  appeal  was  all  in  vain;  and  while 
the  knell  of  the  empire  was  tolling,  Augereau  remain- 
ed inactive  and  useless.  At  length,  however,  h<i 
7* 


118  INTERVIEW     WITH     NAPOLEON. 

seemed  to  rouse  himself  for  a  moment,  and  obeying 
Napoleon's  orders,  marched  on  Geneva,  and  defeated 
the  Austrians  before  the  town.  Compelled,  however 
to  retire,  he  retreated  towards  Lyons,  and  at  Limonet 
fought  his  last,  battle.  It  was  brave  and  worthy  of  his 
character  ;  but  though  he  left  nearly  three  thousand  ot 
the  enemy  dead  on  the  field,  while  he  lost  but  two 
thousand,  he  was  compelled  to  retire,  and  evacuate 
Lyons,  retreating  towards  Valence. 

At  the  latter  place,  a  proclamation  was  issued  by  the 
inhabitants  on  Napoleon's  abdication,  loading  the  fallen 
Emperor  with  the  most  opprobrious  epithets,  and  extol- 
ling Louis  XVIII.  as  the  idol  of  his  country.  To  this 
atrocious  proclamation  Augereau's  signature  was 
affixed.  On  his  way  to  Elba,  Napoleon  met  Augereau 
unexpectedly  near  Valence,  and  an  interview  took 
place,  which  from  the  different  versions  given  of  it  fur 
nishes  a  curious  illustration  of  the  historical  contradic- 
tions connected  with  this  period. 

Says  the  "  Court  and  Camp  of  Napoleon,"  "  Soon 
after  this  the  'Fructidor  General'  and  the  ex-emperor 
met  at  a  short  distance  from  Valence,  as  the  latter 
was  on  his  way  to  Elba.  "  I  have  thy  proclamation," 
said  Napoleon,  "thou  hast  betrayed  me." — "Sire,"  re- 
plied the  Marshal,  "  it  is  you  who  have  betrayed  France 
and  the  army,  by  sacrificing  both  to  a  frantic  spirit 
of  ambition."  "Thou  hast  chosen  thyself  a  new 
master," said  Napoleon — "I  have  no  account  to  render 
thee  on  that  score,"  replied  the  General — "Thou 
hast  no  courage,"  replied  Bonaparte — "  'T'is  thou  hast 
none,"  responded  the  General,  and  turned  his  back 
without  any  respect  on  his  late  master."  This 
precious  bit  of  dialogue  is  detailed  with  so  much 
minuteness,  that  one  would  incline  to  believe  it,  ever 


MARSHAL     AUGEREAU.  119 

against  counter  statements,  were  it  not  for  the  false- 
hood it  bears  on  its  own  face.  The  whole  scene  is 
unnatural  ;  and  to  wind  up  with  a  charge  of  cow- 
ardice on  the  part  of  each,  is  supremely  ridicu- 
lous. For  two  men  who  had  fought  side  by  side 
at  Lodi,  Arcola,  and  Castiglione,  and  stormed  together 
ever  so  many  battle-fields,  to  accuse  each  other  of 
cowardice  at  that  late  hour,  would  be  a  child's  play 
that  Augereau  might  stoop  to — but  Napoleon  never. 

Here  is  another  account  of  this  interview  by  Mr. 
Alison  :  "  At  noon  on  the  following  day,  he  acciden- 
tally met  Augereau  on  the  road,  near  Yalence,  both 
alighted  from  their  carriages,  and  ignorant  of  the 
atrocious  proclamation,  in  which  that  Marshal  had 
so  recently  announced  his  conversion  to  the  Bour- 
bons, the  Emperor  embraced  him,  and  they  walked 
together  on  the  road  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the 
most  amicable  manner.  It  was  observed,  however, 
that  Augereau  kept  his  helmet  on  his  head  as  he 
walked  along.  A  few  minutes  after,  the  Emperor 
entered  Valence,  and  beheld  the  proclamation  pla- 
carded on  the  walls."  It  need  not  be  remarked,  that 
the  latter  is  the  most  reliable  account  of  the  two. 
A  great  many  of  the  incidents  of  Napoleon's  life, 
which  have  been  gathered  up  by  English  writers,  are 
as  fabulous  as  the  first  account  of  this  inter?  iew  be- 
tween him  and  Augereau. 

Louis  XVIII.  rewarded  him  by  making  him 
Peer  of  France,  and  bestowed  on  him  the  Cross  of  St. 
Louis,  and  the  command  of  the  14th  Division  in  Nor- 
mandy. 

On  Napoleon's  landing  from  Elba,  Augereau  was 
struck  with  astonishment  to  find  himself  proclaimed  by 
the  Emperor  as  a  traitor.  He,  however,  made  no  reply 


120  HIS     DEATH. 

hoping  by  a  seasonable  conversion,  tD  extricate  him 
self  from  the  difficulties  that  surrounded  him.  lie- 
publican  as  he  was,  lie  never  allowed  his  principles 
to  interfere  with  his  self-interest,  nor  his  conscience 
with  his  safety.  No  sooner  had  Napoleon  entered 
Paris  in  triumph,  than  Augereau  issued  a  proclama- 
tion to  his  soldiers,  urging  them  once  more  to  "  march 
under  the  victorious  wings  of  those  immortal  eagles, 
which  had  so  often  conducted  them  to  glory."  Na- 
poleon, who  had  never  respected  him,  and  after  his 
infamous  proclamation  at  Valence,  thoroughly  de- 
spised him,  paid  no  attention  to  this  delicate  compli- 
ment of  his  flexible  Marshal.  Knowing  him  too 
thoroughly  to  trust  him,  and  disdaining  to  molest 
hiiv,  he  let  the  betrayer  of  two  masters  pass  into 
silent  neglect.  Poor  Augereau,  robbed  of  his 
plumes,  retired  to  his  country  estate,  where  he  re- 
mained till  the  second  restoration,  when  he  again  sent 
in  his  protestations  of  devotion  to  the  king.  But  there 
is  a  limit,  even  to  a  Bourbon's  vanity ;  and  Louis, 
turning  a  deaf  ear  to  his  solicitations  and  flattery, 
he  again  retired  to  his  estate,  where  he  died  in  June, 
1816,  of  a  dropsy  in  the  chest. 

Augereau  was  essentially  a  mean  man,  though  a 
brave  one.  He  was  a  weak-headed,  avaricious,  self- 
ish, boasting  soldier ;  yet  possessing  courage  that 
would  not  have  disgraced  the  days  of  chivalry.  His 
soldiers  loved  him,  for  he  kept  strict  order  and  disci- 
pline among  them,  and  exposed  himself  like  the 
meanest  of  their  number  in  the  hour  of  danger. 
Without  sufficient  grasp  of  thought  to  form  a  plan 
requiring  any  depth  of  combination,  or  even  intellect 
enough  to  comprehend  one  already  furnished  to  hie 
hand;  he  nevertheless  surveyed  a  field  of  battle  witl. 


MARSHAL     AUGEBEAU.  12} 

imperturbable   coolness,    and    his   charge  was   like  a 
falling  thunderbolt. 

His  want  of  education,  and  the  early  habits  and  as- 
sociations he  formed,  were  enough  to  spoil  a  man  of 
even  more  strength  of  character  than  he  possessed. 
He  came  under  the  influence  of  Napoleon's  genius  at 
too  late  an  age  to  receive  those  impressions  which  so 
effectually  remoulded  some  of  the  younger  lieutenants. 


IV, 


MARSHAL  DAVOUST. 

Hi3   Character— Battle  of  Auerstadt — Cavalry  Action    at   Eohmnhl— 
Retreat  from  Russia. 

IT  is  hard  to  form  a  correct  opinion  of  such  a  man 
as  Davoust.  The  obloquy  that  is  thrown  upon  him 
especially  by  English  historians,  has  a  tendency  to 
destroy  our  sympathy  for  him  at  the  outset,  and  dis- 
torts the  medium  through  which  we  ever  after  con 
template  him.  Positive  in  all  his  acts,  and  naturally 
;)f  a  stern  and  fierce  temperament,  he  did  things  in  a 
way,  and  with  a  directness,  and  an  abruptness,  that 
indicated  a  harsh  and  unfeeling  nature.  But  if  wo 
judge  of  men  by  their  actions,  and  not  also  by  the 
motives  which  prompted  them,  we  shall  be  compelled 
to  regard  the  Duke  of  Wellington  as  one  of  the  most 
cruel  of  men.  His  whole  political  course  in  Eng- 
land— his  steady  opposition  to  all  reform — his  harsh 
treatment  of  the  petitions  of  the  poor  and  helpless, 
and  heartless  indifference  to  the  cries  of  famishing 
thousands,  argue  the  most  callous  and  unpitying 
nature.  But  his  actions — though  causing  so  much 
suffering,  and  awakening  so  much  indignation,  that 
even  his  house  was  mobbed  by  his  own  countrymen, 
and  his  gray  hairs  narrowly  escaped  being  trampled 
in  the  dust  by  an  indignant  populace — have  all 
sprung  from  his  education  as  a  military  man.  Every 


MARSHAL     DAVOTJ8T.  121; 

tiling  must  bend  to  the  established  order  of  things, 
and  the  suffering  of  individuals  is  not  to  be  taken 
into  the  account.  The  same  is  true  of  Davoust 
Trained  from  his  youth  to  the  profession  of  arms — 
accustomed,  even  in  his  boyhood,  to  scenes  of  revo 
lutionary  violence — with  all  his  moral  feelings  edu- 
cated amid  the  uproar  of  battle,  or  the  corruptions  of  a 
camp — the  life  of  the  warrior  was  to  him  the  true 
life  of  man.  Success,  victory,  were  the  only  objects 
he  contemplated;  making  up  his  mind  beforehand, 
that  suffering  and  death  would  attend  the  meana 
employed.  Hence  his  fearful  ferocity  in  battle — the 
headlong  fury  with  which  he  tore  through  the  ranks 
of  the  enemy,  and  the  unscrupulous  manner  in  which 
he  made  war  support  war.  These  were  the  natural 
results  of  his  firm  resolution  to  conquer,  and  of  his 
military  creed,  that  "  to  the  victors  belong  the  spoils." 
He  did  nothing  by  halves,  nor  had  he  anything  of  the 
"  suaviter  in  modo,"  which  glosses  over  so  many  rough 
deeds,  and  conveys  the  impression  they  were  clone  from 
necessity,  rather  than  desire. 

LOUIS-NICHOLAS  DAVOUST  was  born  at  Anriaux,  ii 
Burgundy,  10th  of  May,  1770,  one  year  after  Bona- 
parte. His  family  could  lay  claim  to  the  title  of 
noble,  though,  like  many  Italian  cavaliers,  who  are 
too  poor  to  own  a  horse ;  it  was  destitute  of  lands  or 
houses.  Young  Davoust  being  destined  for  the  armv, 
was  sent  to  the  military  school  of  Brienne,  where 
was  also  the  charity  boy,'  Bonaparte.  At  the  age  of 
fiKeenT^he  obtained  a  commissioiryT)ut  his  fiery,  im- 
petuous nature,  soon  involved  him  in  difficulty  with 
his  superior  officers,  and  it  was  taken  from  him.  Iu 
the  revolution,  he  became  a  fierce  republican,  and 
after  the  death  of  Louis,  was  appointed  over  a  bat 


I8t  HI8     EARLY     LIFE. 

talion  of  volunteers,  and  was  sent  to  join  ^cuunmirier_ 
then  commanding  the  army  of  the  Republic,  on  the 
Rhine.  When  Doumourier — disgusted  with  the  in- 
creasing horrors  of  the  revolution — endeavoured  to 
win  the  army  over,  to  march  against  the  Terrorists, 
the  young  Davoust  used  his  utmost  endeavours  to 
steady  the  shaking  fidelity  of  the  troops  Doumourier 
was  finally  compelled  to  flee  to  the  Austin ans,  al 
most  alone;  and  Davoust,  for  his  efforts  and  faith 
fulness,  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  Brigadier-Gen- 
eral, and  during  five  years,  fought  bravely  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rhine  and  Moselle.  When  Bonaparte 
returned  from  Italy,  where  he  had  covered  himself  and 
the  army  with  glory,  Davoust  sought  to  unite  his 
fortunes  with  those  of  the  young  Corsican.  He  was 
consequently  joined  to  the  expedition  to  Egypt,  and 
under  the  walls  of  Samanhout  and  Aboukir,  fought 
with  a  bravery,  that  showed  he  was  worthy  of  the 
place  he  had  sought.  He  was  not  included  with  those 
selected  by  Bonaparte  to  accompany  him  to  France, 
and  did  not  return  till  the  latter  was  proclaimed  First 
Consul. 

Attaching  himself  still  more  closely  to  one  whoso 
fortunes  were  rising  so  rapidly,  he  was  placed  at  the 
head  of  the  grenadiers  of  the  Consular  Guard,  and  soon 
after,  through  the  influence  of  Bonaparte,  obtained  the 
hand  of  the  sister  of  General  Le  Clerc — a  lady  of  cap- 
tivating manners,  and  rare  beauty. 

The  road  to  fame  was  now  fairly  open  to  the 
young  soldier,  and  he  pursued  it  with  a  boldness  and 
energy  that  deserved  success.  In  1804,  he  was  made 
Marshal  of  the  Empire,  and  the  next  year  found  him 
at  the  head  of  a  corps  of  the  Grand  Army.  Around 
Ulm,  at  Austerlitz,  chief  of  all  at  Auerstadt,  he  per 


MARSHAL     DAVOU8T.  125 

formed  prodigies  of  valour,  and  fixed  forever  his 
great  reputation.  At  Eylau  and  Friedland  be  proved 
that  honours  were  never  more  worthily  bestowed, 
than  when  placed  on  his  head.  For  his  bravery 
and  success  at  Echmuhl,  he  received  the  title  oi 
Prince  of  Echmuhl,  and  soon  after,  at  Wagram, 
showed  that  Bonaparte  neved  relied  on  him  in  vain. 

The  three  following  years  he  spent  in  Poland,  as 
Governor  of  the  country,  and  commander  of  the 
French  army  there,  and  gave  great  offence  to  the  in- 
habitants by  the  heavy  contributions  he  laid  upon 
them,  and  the  unfeeling  manner  in  which  they  were 
collected. 

In  1812,  we  find  him  at  the  head  of  the  first  corpa 
of  the  Grand  Army — the  first  to  cross  the  Niemen 
and  commence  the  splendid  pageant  of  that  memora- 
ble day.  He  crossed  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  took  possession  of  Kowno.  Napoleon  had  his 
tent  pitched  on  an  eminence,  a  few  rods  from  the 
bank,  and  there  watched  the  movements  of  his  mag- 
nificent legions.  Two  hundred  thousand  men,  on 
that  day,  and  forty  thousand  horses,  in  splendid 
array  and  full  equipment,  and  most  perfect  order, 
slowly  descended  to  the  bridges,  and  to  the  stirring 
strains  of  martial  music,  and  under  the  folds  of  a 
thousand  fluttering  banners,  moved  past  the  imperial 
station,  rending  the  heavens  with  their  shouts,  while 
the  saluting  trumpets  breathed  forth  their  most  tri- 
umphant strains.  Throughout  this  disastrous  cam- 
paign he  fought  with  the  heroism  and  firmness  oi 
Ney  himself. 

The  next  year  after  the  Russian  campaign,  he 
made  his  head-quarters  in  Hamburgh,  and  defended! 
the  city,  heroically,  against  the  Russians,  Prussian^ 


120  II  I  6     C  11  A  K  AOTER. 

and  Swedes  combined.  He  held  out  long  all  or  Na 
poleori's  abdication,  resolutely  refusing  to  surrendei 
the  place,  until  General  Gerard  arrived  on  the  purl 
of  Louis  XVIII.  He  then  gave  in  his  adhesion  to 
the  Bourbons,  but  was  among  the  first  to  declare  foi 
the  Emperor,  on  his  return  from  Elba.  After  the 
overthrow  at  Waterloo,  he  took  command  of  that 
portion  of  the  army  which  still  remained  faithful  to 
Napoleon,  and  retreated  to  Orleans,  and  did  not  give 
in  his  adhesion  to  the  Bourbons,  until  the  Hussians 
were  marching  against  him. 

This  brief  outline  of  Davoust's  career,  embraces 
the  whole  active  life  of  Napoleon,  and  was  filled  up 
with  the  most  stirring  scenes,  and  marked  by  changes 
that  amazed  and  shook  the  world.  The  role  that  he 
played  in  this  mighty  Napoleonic  drama,  shows  him 
to  have  been  an  extraordinary  man,  and  furnishes 
another  evidence  of  the  penetration  that  characterised 
Bonaparte  in  the  selection  of  his  Generals. 

The  three  striking  characteristics  of  Davoust,  were 
great  personal  intrepidity  and  daring — perfect  self- 
possession  and  coolness  in  the  hour  of  peril,  and  almost 
invincible  tenacity.  With  all  these  rare  gifts,  he  was 
also  a  great  General.  In  the  skill  with  which  he 
chose  his  ground,  arranged  his  army,  and  determined 
on  the  point  and  moment  of  attack,  he  had  few  su- 
periors in  Europe.  Rash  in  an  onset,  he  was  per- 
fectly cool  in  repelling  one.  This  combination  of  two 
each  opposite  qualities,  so  prominent  in  Napoleon, 
seemed  to  be  characteristic  of  most  of  his  Generals 
and  was  one  great  cause  of  their  success. 

His  personal  daring  became  proverbial  in  the  army, 
and  whenever  he  was  seen  to  direct  a  blow,  it  wa? 
known  thai  it  would  be  the  fiercest,  heaviest  one 


MARSHAL     DAVOUST. 

that  could  be  given.  His  susceptibility  of  intense  ex- 
citement, carried  Inn.  in  the  hour  of  battle,  above  the 
thought  of  danger  or  death. 

BATTLE   OF   ATJERSTADT. 

One  of  the  most  successful  battles  he  ever  fought, 
was  that  of  Auerstadt,  where  he  earned  his  title  of 
Duke.  The  year  before,  at  Austerlitz,  he  had  ex- 
hibited that  coolness  in  sudden  peril,  and  that  uncon- 
querable tenacity,  which  made  him  so  strong  an  ally 
on  a  battle  field.  The  night  before  the  battle  of  Jena, 
Napoleon  slept  on  the  heights  of  Landgrafenberg, 
whither  he  had  led  his  army  with  incredible  toil,  and 
at  four  in  the  morning — it  was  an  October  morning — 
rode  along  the  lines  and  addressed  his  soldiers  in  that 
stirring  eloquence,  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to 
use.  The  dense  fog  that  curtained  in  the  dark  and 
chilly  morning,  lifted,  and  rent  before  the  fierce  ac- 
clamations that  answered  him,  and  with  the  first 
dawn  his  columns  were  upon  the  enemy.  When 
the  unclouded  sun,  at  nine  o'clock,  broke  through, 
and  scattered  the  fog,  it  shone  down  on  a  wild  battle- 
field, on  which  were  heard  the  incessant  thunder  of 
artillery,  and  rattle  of  musketry ;  interrupted,  now 
and  then,  by  the  heavy  shocks  of  cavalry,  and  the 
shouts  of  maddened  men.  Napoleon  was  again  victo- 
rious, and  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  rode  over 
the  cumbered  ground,  while  the  setting  sun  shone  on 
a  different  scene  from  that  which  its  rising  beams 
had  gilded.  But  not  at  Jena  was  the  great  battle  of 
the  14th  of  October  fought,  nor  was  Napoleon  the 
hero  of  the  day.  Less  than  thirty  miles  distant — 
within  hearing  of  his  cannon,  could  he  have  paused 
to  listen — Davoust  was  winning  the  victory  for  him. 


128  CATTLE     OF     AU  ERST  APT 

by  prodigies  of  valour,  to  which  the  hard  fought  bat 
tie  of  Jena  was  an  easy  affair.  Napoleon  imagined 
he  had  the  King  of  Prussia,  with  his  whole  army,  on 
the  heights  of  Landgrafenberg — and  they  were  behind 
them,  two  days  previous.  With  ninety  thousand 
men,  he  supposed  he  was  marching  on  over  a  hundred 
thousand,  instead  of  on  forty  thousand,  as  the  result 
proved.  After  several  hours  of  hard  fighting,  thp 
Prussians,  it  is  true,  were  reinforced  by  twenty  thou 
sand,  under  E-uchel,  making  sixty  thousand  against 
ninety  thousand,  with  Napoleon  at  their  head,  and 
Murat's  splendid  cavalry  in  reserve.  At  Auerstadt, 
matters  were  reversed.  The  King  of  Prussia,  with 
nearly  two-thirds  of  his  army,  had  marched  thither, 
and  with  sixty  thousand  men  threatened  to  crush 
Davoust,  with  only  thirty  thousand.  Napoleon, 
i.gnorant  of  this,  sent  a  dispatch  to  him,  which  he 
received  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  march  ra- 
pidly on  Apolda,  in  the  rear  of  the  army  he  was  about 
lo  engage  and  defeat.  If  Bernadotte  was  with  him, 
they  were  to  march  together ;  but  as  the  former  had 
received  his  orders  before,  and  this  seemed  a  permis- 
sion rather  than  an  order,  he  refused  to  accede  to  Da- 
voust's  request  to  join  their  armies.  He  took  his  own 
route,  and  but  for  the  heroism  and  unconquerable 
firmness  of  the  latter,  this  act  would  have  cost  him  his 
brad. 

Davoust,  with  his  thirty  thousand  troops,  of  which 
inly  four  thousand  were  cavalry,  pushed  forward, 
not  expecting  to  meet  the  enemy  till  towards  evening. 
But  a  short  distance  in  front  of  him,  on  the  plateau  of 
Auerstadt,  that  spread  away  from  the  steep  ascent  up 
which  liis  arrny,  fresh  from  their  bivouacs,  was  toiling 
— lay  the  King  of  Prussia,  with  fifty  thousand  iufan 


MARSHAL     DAVOU8T.  129 

try,  and  ten  thousand  splendid  cavalry — the  whole 
commanded  by  the  Duke  of  Brunswick.  The  fog  that 
enveloped  Napoleon  on  the  heights  of  Landgralenberg 
and  covered  the  battle-field  of  Jena  with  darkness, 
curtained  in,  also,  the  heights  of  the  Sonuenberg,  and 
the  army  of  the  King  of  Prussia.  At  eight  in  the 
morning,  the  vanguard  of  Davoust  came  unexpect- 
edly upon  the  enemy,  also  advancing.  The  dense 
and  motionless  fog  so  concealed  everything,  that 
their  bayonets  almost  crossed,  before  they  discovered 
each  other.  Even  then,  both  supposing  they  had 
come  on  a  single  detachment  only,  sent  forward  a 
small  force  to  clear  the  way — -the  Prussians  to  open  the 
defile  up  which  Davoust  was  struggling,  and  the  French 
to  do  the  same  thing,  so  that  they  could  continue  then 
march. 

The  upper  end  of  this  defile  opened,  as  I  remarked, 
on  to  the  elevated  plain  of  Auerstadt,  far  up  the  Sou- 
neuberg  mountains.  Davoust  sent  on  the  brave  and 
heroic  Grudin,  with  his  division,  to  clear  it,  and  oc- 
cupy the  level  space  on  the  top,  at  all  hazards.  In  a 
few  minutes  Gudin  stood,  in  battle  array,  on  the 
plateau,  though  entirely  shut  out  from  the  enemy  by 
the  dense  fog.  Blucher,  with  nearly  three  thousand 
hussars,  was  ordered  to  ride  over  the  plateau  and 
sweep  it  of  the  enemy.  The  former  part  of  the  order 
he  obeyed,  and  came  dashing  through  the  mist,  with 
his  body  of  cavalry,  when,  suddenly  they  found 
themselves  on  the  bayonets'  point,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment shattered  and  rolled  back  by  a  murderous  fire, 
that  seemed  to  open  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth 
Rallying  his  men,  however,  to  the  charge,  Bluchei 
came  galloping  up  to  the  French,  now  thrown  into 
squares,  and  dashed,  with  his  reckless  valour,  on  theii 


iiJ0  BATTLE     OF     AUEB8TADT. 

steady  ranks.  Finding,  from  the  incessant  roll  of 
musketry,  that  Blucher  was  meeting  with  an  obsti 
nate  resistance,  the  King  of  Prussia  sent  forward 
three  divisions  to  sustain  him.  These,  with  Blue  liar's 
hussars,  now  came  sweeping  down  on  Gudin's  sin- 
gle division,  threatening  to  crush  it  with  a  single 
blow.  One  division  against  three,  supported  by 
twenty -five  hundred  cavalry,  was  fearful  odds ;  but 
Gudin  knowing  his  defeat  would  ruin  the  army,  now 
packed  in  the  defile  below  and  making  desperate 
efforts  t">  reach  the  plateau ;  presented  a  firm  front  to 
the  enemy,  and  proved,  by  his  heroic  resistance, 
worthy  to  be  under  the  illustrious  Chief  that  com- 
manded him.  Hitherto  the  combat  had  been  carried 
on  amid  the  thick  fog,  that  stubbornly  clung  to  the 
heights,  involving  everything  in  obscurity,  and  only 
now  and  then,  lifted,  like  the  folds  of  a  huge  curtain, 
as  the  artillery  and  musketry  exploded  in  its  bosom. 
At  this  dreadful  crisis,  however,  it  suddenly  rolled 
over  the  mountain,  arid  parting  in  fragments,  rodo 
away  on  the  morning  breeze,  while  the  unclouded 
sun  flashed  down  on  the  immense  Prussian  host, 
drawn  up  in  battle  array.  It  was  at  this  same  hour 
the  fog  parted  on  the  plains  of  Jena,  and  revealed  to 
the  astonished  Prussians  their  overwhelming  enemy 
rushing  to  the  charge.  There  the  sun  shone  on 
ninety  thousand  Frenchmen,  moving  down,  with 
resistless  power,  on  forty  thousand  Prussians ;  but 
here  on  sixty  thousand  Prussians,  enveloping  thirty 
thousand  Frenchmen.  Nothing  could  be  more  start- 
ling, than  the  sudden  revelation  which  that  morning 
fun  made  to  Davoust — he  expected  t;>  find  only  a 
tew  detachments  before  him,  and  lo!  there  stood  a 
mighty  army  with  the  imposing  front  of  battle.  Aa 


MARSHAL     DAVOU8T.  131 

his  eye  fell  on  the  glittering  ranks  of  infantry,  and 
flashing  helmets  of  the  superb  cavalry,  it  embraced 
at  once  the  full  peril  of  his  position.  It  was  enough 
to  daunt  the  boldest  heart,  but  fear  and  Davoust  wer« 
utter  strangers.  He  was  not  to  reach  Apolda  that  day, 
that  was  certain,  and  fortunate  he  might  consider 
himself  if  he  reached  it  at  all  in  any  other  way  than  as 
a  prisoner  of  war.  The  struggle  before  him  was  to  be 
against  desperate  odds,  one  against  two,  while  ten 
thousand  cavalry  stood  in  battle  array — their  formid- 
able masses  alone  sufficient,  apparently,  to  sweep  his 
army  from  the  field.  Of  Gudin's  brave  division,  of 
seven  thousand  men,  which  had  fought,  one  against 
three,  to  maintain  the  plateau  till  his  arrival,  half 
had  already  fallen.  The  tremendous  onsets  of  cavalry 
and  infantry  together  on  him  could  not  be  much 
longer  withstood  ;  but  at  this  juncture  the  other  di- 
visions of  the  army  appeared  on  the  field,  and  with 
rapid  step,  and  in  admirable  order,  moved  into  the  linn 
ot  battle.  The  two  armies  were  now  fairly  engaged 
The  mist  had  rolled  away,  as  if  hasting  in  aifright 
from  the  scene  of  carnage,  and  under  the  unclouded 
sun  there  was  no  longer  any  room  for  deception.  Da- 
voust was  fairly  taken  by  surprise,  and  had  on  his 
hand  an  army  double  of  his  own,  while  a  retreat 
without  a  rout  was  impossible.  With  that  coolness 
and  self-possession  which  rendered  him  so  remark- 
able in  the  midst  of  the  conflict,  he  gave  all  his 
orders,  and  performed  his  evolutions  and  conducted 
the  charges  ;  thus  inspiring,  by  his  very  voice  an] 
bearing,  the  soldiers  with  confidence  and  courage. 
He  rode  through  the  lines;  his  brow  knit  with  his 
stern  resolve,  and  with  the  weight  that  lay  on  his 
brave  heart,  and  his  clear,  stern  voice,  expressing  bv 


182  CHARGE     OF     PRINCE     WILLIAM. 

its  very  calmness  the  intensity  of  the  excitement  thai 
mastered  him.  The  next  moment  the  plain  trembled 
under  the  headlong  charge  of  the  Prussian  cavalry, 
as  they  came  pouring  on  the  French  infantry.  The 
ahock  was  terrific  ;  but  that  splendid  body  of  horso 
recoiled  from  the  blow,  as  if  it  had  fallen  against 
Mie  face  of  a  rock  instead  of  living  men.  The 
French  threw  themselves  into  squares,  and  the  front 
rank  kneeling,  fringed  with  their  glittering  bayonets 
the  entire  formations,  while  the  ranks  behind  poured 
an  incessant  volley  on  the  charging  squadrons.  These 
would  recoil,  turn,  and  charge  again,  with  unparallel- 
ed, but  vain  bravery.  Prince  William,  who  led  them 
on,  disdaining  to  abandon  the  contest,  again  and 
again  hurried  them  forward  with  an  impetuosity  and 
strength,  that  threatened  to  bear  down  every  thing 
before  them.  Sometimes  a  square  would  bend  and 
waver  a  moment,  like  a  wave  of  flame  when  it  meets 
the  blast,  but  the  next  moment  spring  to  its  place 
again,  presenting  the  same  girdle  of  steel  in  front,  and 
the  same  line  of  fire  behind.  Goaded  to  despera- 
tion and  madness  by  the  resistance  he  met  with,  and 
confident  still  of  the  power  of  his  cavalry  to  break 
the  infantry,  he  rallied  his  diminished  troopti  for 
the  last  time,  and  led  them  to  the  charge.  These 
brave  men  rode  steadily  forward  through  the  storm 
cf  grapeshot  and  bullets  that  swept  their  path,  till 
Uiey  came  to  the  very  muzzles  of  the  guns ;  but  not 
a  square  broke,  not  a  battalion  yielded.  Furious 
with  disappointment,  they  then  rode  round  the 
squares,  firing  tLeir  pistols  in  the  soldiers'  faces,  and 
spurring  their  steeds  in  wherever  a  man  fell.  But  all 
this  time  a  most  murderous  fire  wasted  them  ;  tor 
while  they  swept  in  rapid  circles  round  each  sqiuirc 


MARSHAL     DAVOTJ6T.  133 

a  gircLe  of  light  followed,  rolling  round  the  living  waL; 
enveloping  it  in  smoke  and  strewing  its  base  with  the 
dead.  At  length  Prince  William  himself  was  stretche ~ 
on  the  field  where  half  his  followers  already  lay  bleed 
ing,  and  the  remainder  withdrew. 

Davoust,  feeling  how  every  thing  wavered  in  the 
balance,  multiplied  himself  with  the  perils  that  envi- 
roned him.  With  no  cavalry  able  to  contend  with 
that  of  the  enemy,  he  was  compelled  to  rely  entirely 
on  his  infantry.  The  rapidity,  coolness,  and  preci- 
sion with  which  they  performed  their  evolutions, 
javed  him  from  a  ruinous  defeat.  Now  ae  would 
suddenly  throw  a  division  into  squares,  as  the  splen- 
did Prussian  cavalry  came  thundering  upon  it ;  and 
repelling  the  shock,  unroll  them  into  line  to  receive 
a  charge  of  infantry,  or  throw  them  into  close  columns 
to  charge  in  turn.  The  battle  rested  on  his  life  ;  yet  hig 
personal  presence  at  the  points  of  danger  was  equally 
necessary  to  victory,  and  he  seemed  to  forget  he  had 
a  life  to  lose.  He  never  appeared  better  than  on  this 
day.  The  intense  action  of  his  mind  neutralized  the 
strong  excitement  of  his  feelings  which  usually  bore 
him  into  battle;  and  he  rode  through  the  driving 
storm  with  the  stern  purpose,  never  to  yield,  written 
on  his  calm  marble-like  countenance,  in  lines  that  could 
not  be  mistaken.  He  had  imparted  the  same  feelings 
to  his  followers,  and  the  tenacity  with  which  they 
disputed  every  inch  of  ground,  and  held  firm  their  po- 
sition against  the  united  onsets  of  cavalry  and  infantry 
astonished  even  their  enemies. 

The  heights  of  Sonnenberg  never  witnessed  such  a 
scene  before,  and  the  morning  sun  never  looked  down 
on  a  braver  fought  battle.  The  mist  of  the  morning 


134-  BATTLE     OF     AUER8TADT. 

had  given  place  to  the  smoke  of  cannon  and  mil* 
ketry  that  curtained  in  the  armies ;  and  the  whole 
plateau  was  one  blaze  of  light  streaming  through 
clouds  of  dust,  with  which  the  fierce  cavalry  had 
filled  the  air.  Old  Sonnenberg  quivered  on  his  base 
under  the  shock,  and  its  rugged  sides  were  streaked 
with  wreaths  of  smoke  that  seemed  rent  by  violence 
from  the  tortured  war-cloud  below.  Amid  this  wild 
storm  Davoust  moved  unscathed — his  uniform  riddled 
with  balls — and  his  guard  incessantly  falling  around 
him.  At  length  a  shot  struck  his  chapeau,  and  bore  it 
from  his  head  among  his  followers.  Prince  William 
was  down — the  Duke  of  Brunswick  had  been  borne 
mortally  wounded  from  the  fight,  while  scores  of  his 
own  brave  officers  lay  stretched  on  the  field  of  their 
fame — yet  still  Davoust  towered  unhurt  amid  his  ranks. 
At  length  Morand  was  ordered  to  carry  the  heights  ot 
Sonnenberg,  and  plant  the  artillery  there,  so  as  to  sweep 
the  plateau  below.  This  brave  General  put  himself  at 
the  head  of  his  columns,  and  with  a  firm  step,  began  to 
ascend  the  slope.  The  King  of  Prussia,  perceiving  at 
a  glance  how  disastrous  to  him  the  conquest  of  this 
position  would  be,  charged  in  person  at  the  head  of  his 
troops.  For  a  moment  the  battle  wavered ;  but  the 
next  moment  the  heroic  Morand  was  seen  to  move  up- 
ward, and  in  a  few  minutes  his  artillery  opened  on  the 
plain,  carrying  death  and  havoc  through  the  Prussian 
ranks. 

The  plateau  was  won,  and  Davoust  master  of  Ihe 
field.  But  not  satisfied  with  his  success,  he  deter- 
mined to  complete  the  victory  by  carrying  the  heights 
of  Eckartsberg,  which  protected  the  retreat  of  the 
enemy.  The  trumpets  immediately  sounded  the 
charge,  and  the  wearied  Gudin  pressed  fo^Hrard.  Bui 


MAfiSHAL     DAVOU8T.  135 

the  King  had  already  rallied  his  shattered  troops  be 
hind  a  reserve  of  fifteen  thousand  men,  which  had 
not  yet  been  engaged.  There,  too,  in  security  the 
iron-souled  Blucher  rallied  the  remnants  of  his  splen- 
did cavalry.  It  was  in  this  crisis  Davoust  showed 
himself  the  great  commander,  and  fixed  forever  his 
military  fame.  This  reserve,  only  a  third  less  than 
his  entire  force,  would  have  wrung  the  victory 
from  almost  any  other  hand  than  his.  I  do  not 
believe  there  were  three  Generals  in  the  French  army, 
that  would  not  have  been  defeated  at  this  point — 
there  was  not  one  in  the  allied  armies.  Here  was  an 
army  of  some  twenty-four  thousand  men,  wearied 
with  a  morning's  march,  and  a  half-day's  severe 
fighting,  dragging  its  bleeding  columns  up  to  a  peril- 
ous assault ;  while  fifteen  thousand  fresh  troops,  sus- 
tained by  the  now  reformed  cavalry  and  infantry,  fell 
with  the  energy  of  despair  upon  it.  Blucher  stood 
eyeing  the  ranks,  ready,  the  moment  a  column 
shook,  to  dash  on  it  with  his  cavalry.  The  day  so 
nobly  battled  for  and  won,  seemed  at  last  about  to 
be  lost.  "Wearied  troops  against  fresh  ones — a  divi- 
sion against  a  corps—such  was  the  relative  strength 
of  the  armies.  But  Davoust  gathered  his  energies  for 
a  last  effort,  and  poured  his  wearied  but  resolute  troops 
in  such  strength  and  terror  on  the  enemy,  that  they 
swept  down  every  thing  in  their  passage — charged 
the  artillery-men  at  their  pieces,  and  wrenched  their 
guns  from  their  grasp — turned  the  cavalry  in  affright 
over  the  field,  and  carried  the  heights  with  shouts  01 
victory  that  were  echoed  back  from  old  Sonnenberg,  as 
Morand,  driving  back  the  enemy  that  had  just  attacked 
him  in  his  position,  came  driving  down  the  slope, 
scattering  like  a  whirlwind  every  tiling  before  him. 


1 36  THE     PURSUIT. 

The  Prussians  were  utterly  defeated,  and  ,he  tired 
Davoust  paused  amid  the  wreck  of  his  army,  and 
surveyed  the  bloody  field  that  should  stand  as  an 
everlasting  monument  of  his  deeds. 

That  was  a  gloomy  night  for  the  Prussian  king 
Fleeing  from  the  disastrous  field,  with  his  disheartened 
troops  ;  he  was  soon  crossed  in  his  track,  by  the  fugi- 
tives from  the  equally  disastrous  plains  of  Jena. 
The  wreck  of  Jena  came  driving  on  the  wreck  ot 
Auerstadt,  and  the  news  of  one  overthrow  was  added 
to  that  of  another,  sending  indescribable  confusion 
and  terror  through  the  already  broken  ranks.  Whole 
divisions  disbanded  at  once.  The  artillery-men  left 
their  guns — the  infantry  their  ammunition  and  bag- 
gage wagons — all  order  was  lost,  and  nothing  but  a 
cloud  of  fugitives  of  all  that  magnificent  army  that 
moved  in  such  pomp  to  battle,  was  seen  driving 
through  the  darkness.  The  King  himself,  well  nigh 
captured,  struggling  no  longer  for  his  army,  but  for  his 
life. 

Such  was  the  battle  of  Auerstadt,  fought  on  the 
same  day  with  that  of  Jena.  For  his  heroic  con- 
duct, Davoust  was  created  Duke  of  Auerstadt, 
and  to  honor  him  still  more,  Napoleon  appointed 
him  to  enter  first  the  Prussian  capital — thus  showing 
to  the  whole  army  his  right  to  the  precedence.  Not 
satisfied  with  having  done  this,  and  also  with  mei> 
tioning  him  in  terms  of  unqualified  praise  in  his  bulle 
tin  home  ;  he  two  weeks  after,  in  reviewing  his  corps, 
on  the  road  to  Frankfort,  extolled  the  valour  of  the 
soldiers ;  and  calling  the  officers  in  a  circle  around 
him,  addressed  them  in  terms  of  respect  and  admira- 
tion, and  expressed  his  sympathy  for  the  losses  they 
had  sustained.  Davoust  stepped  forward  and  replied 


MARSHAL     DAVOUST.  131 

"Sire,  tke  soldiers  of  the  third  corps,  will  always  be 
to  you  what  the  tenth  Legion  was  to  Caesar."*  Brave 
words,  which  his  after  conduct,  and  that  of  his  corps, 
on  many  a  hard-fought  field,  verified.  This  battle  cost 
Davoust  about  eight  thousand  killed  and  wounded, 
among  which  were  two  hundred  and  severity  officers. 
The  brave  Gudin  lost  more  than  half  of  his  whole 
division. 

In  the  campaign  of  Eylau,  the  same  year,  Davoust 
sustained  the  high  reputation  he  had  gained  at  Auer- 
stadt.  He  commanded  the  advance  guard  on  the 
route  to  "Warsaw,  and  at  the  passage  of  the  Ukra,  at 
Pultusk  and  Golymin,  fought  with  his  accustomed 
bravery.  But  it  was  at  the  bloody  combat  of  Eylau, 
he  performed  the  greatest  service  for  Napoleon,  for  he 

*  Mr.  Alison,  in  giving  an  account  of  this  battle,  with  his  accustomed  readiness  to 
accuse  Napoleon  of  falsehood  and  meanness,  and  equal  readiness  himself  to  falsify, 
Bays,  "Napoleon's  official  account  of  the  battle  of  Jena,  in  the  fourth  bulletin  of  the 
campaign,  (it  was  the  Jifth  Bulletin)  is  characterised  by  that  extraordinary  intermix- 
ture of  truth  and  falsehood,  and  unceasing  jealousy  of  any  General  who  appeared  to 
interfere  with  his  reputation,  which,  in  one  who  could  so  well  afford  to  be  generous  in 
that  particular,  is  a  meanness  in  an  especial  manner  reprehensible.'1  And  further  on 
lie  quotes  the  bulletin  itself,  commencing  thus:  "On  our  right  the  corps  of  Marshal 
Davoust  performed  prodigies.  Not  only  did  he  keep  in  check,  but  maintain  a  running 
fight  for  three  leagues  with  the  bulk  of  the  enemy's  troops,"  &c.,  &c.  Now,  if  Napo- 
leon said  this,  he  uttered  a  downright  falsehood,  as  great  as  the  one  Mr.  Alison  baa 
hiro»elf  uttered.  But  by  what  authority  he  presumes  to  translate  "Mais  mena  battaiit 
pendant  plus  de  trois  lieues,"  "Maintained  a  running  fight,"  one  would  "be  puzrled  to 
determine  ;  and  the  French  scholar  will  transfer  to  him  the  charges  he  prefers  against 
Napoleon.  And  instead  of  treating  him  with  neglect,  he,  in  this  hasty,  short  bulletin 
places  Davoust  far  before  all  his  other  Marshals  hi  the  praise  he  bestows,  while  he 
practi-'My  goes  still  farther,  making  him  Duke  of  Auerstadt — conferring  on  him  tb« 
honour  of  leading  his  brave  corps  first  into  Berlin,  and  afterwards  selecting  him  ant 
his  officers  out  to  receive  his  special  approbation  in  sight  of  the  army.  Davoust  die 
not  complain,  and  this  heaping  of  honour  upon  honour  did  not  Uxik  •iko  "jeal  >m| 
ar;d  me»nnes»." 

8* 


138  CUAKGEA.TETLAU. 

saved  him  from  utter  defeat.  Twice  that  day,  was 
Napoleon  rescued  from  ruiu — first,  in  the  morning, 
by  Murat's  splendid  charge  of  cavalry  on  the  Russiuii 
centre,  after  the  destruction  of  Augereau's  corps,  and 
the  repulse  of  Soult ;  and  last,  by  the  victory  Davou.st 
won  over  the  left  wing  of  the  army,  just  before  nigh* 
closed  over  the  scene  of  slaughter.  The  French  left 
and  centre  had  fceen  driven  back — the  Russians  were 
far  in  advance  of  their  position  in  the  morning,  and 
they  only  waited  the  approach  of  Lestocq  on  tho 
right,  to  complete  the  victory.  But  the  heroic  corps 
that  had  won  the  battle  of  Auerstadt,  was  there. 
Davoust  had  struggled  since  morning  with  invincible 
bravery  ;  and  Friant  and  Morand,  who  had  covered 
themselves  with  glory  at  Auerstadt,  here  enacted  over 
again  their  great  deeds.  The  victory  swung  to  and 
fro,  from  side  to  side,  till  at  length  the  two  lines  ap- 
proarhed  within  pistol  shot  of  each  other,  when  the 
Russians  gave  way.  The  artillery-men  were  bayo- 
netted  at  their  guns,  and  though  reinforced  and  par- 
tially successful  in  turn,  the  mighty  columns  of  Davoust 
poured  over  that  part  of  the  field  like  a  resist- 
less torrent.  Huge  columns  of  smoke  rising  from 
burning  Serpallen,  which  he  bad  set  on  fire  in  hia 
passage,  came  riding  the  gale  that  swept  along  tho 
Russian  lines — heralded  by  the  triumphant  shouts  of 
his  conquering  legions  as  they  thundered  over  the  field  • 
and  carried  dismay  to  the  astonished  Russians.  The 
left  wing  was  forced  back  till  it  stood  at  right  angles 
with  the  centre ;  when  the  reserve  was  brought  up, 
and  the  victorious  Davoust,  who  had  so  suddenly 
brightened  the  threatening  sky  of  Napoleon,  was  ar- 
rested in  his  career.  At  this  critical  moment,  Lestocq 


MAliSHAL     DAVOU8T.  139 

arrived  on  the  field.  He  had  but  one  hour  before 
dark,  in  which  to  recover  these  heavy  losses.  In- 
stantly forming  his  men  into  three  columns,  he  ad- 
vanced on  the  nearest  hamlet,  Kuschnitten,  which 
St.  Hiliare  had  just  carried,  and  where  he  had  estab- 
lished himself,  threatening  seriously  the  Russian 
lines.  Under  a  tremendous  cannonade,  Lestocq 
Btormed  and  retook  it ;  and  immediately  forming  hid 
men  into  line,  advanced  on  Anklappen,  where  Da- 
voust,  with  the  other  divisions  of  his  corps,  lay,  right 
in  rear  of  the  Russian  centre,  and  which  formed  the 
limit  of  his  onward  movement.  He  had  fought  for 
eight  dreadful  hours,  and  at  last  wrung  victory  almost 
from  defeat  itself;  and  now  wearied  and  exhausted, 
could  poorly  withstand  the  assault  of  these  fresh  troops. 
[Ie  roused  himself,  however,  for  the  last  time,  and 
that  little  hamlet,  and  the  wood  adjoining,  became 
the  theatre  of  a  most  deadly  combat.  It  was  fighting 
over  again  the  Prussian  reserve  at  Auerstadt,  save 
that  now  he  was  exhausted  by  eight,  instead  of  four 
hours'  fighting.  Still  he  put  forth  almost  superhuman 
efforts  to  keep  the  advantage  he  had  gained.  Ho 
rushed  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight  in  person,  cheered 
and  rallied  on  his  wearied  troops  for  the  twentieth 
time,  calling  on  them  by  their  former  renown  to 
brave  resistance.  "  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  the  spot  where 
the  brave  should  find  a  glorious  death,  the  coward 
will  perish  in  the  deserts  of  Siberia."  The  brave 
fellows  needed  no  fiery  words  to  stimulate  their  cour- 
age. They  joyfully  followed  their  leaders  to  the 
charge,  bat  in  vain.  JSTapoleon,  in  the  distance, 
through  the  dim  twilight,  saw  this  little  hamlet  en 
veloped  in  a  blaze  of  light  as  the  army  rushed  upon 


140  CAVALRY     ACTION. 

it,  and  for  a  whole  hour  watched  his  brave  M  irs.ial. 
wrapped  in  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  struggling  to  win 
for  him  the  victory.  With  grief  he  saw  him  at  length 
forced  out  of  the  blazing  ruins,  and  slowly  retire  with 
his  bleeding  army,  over  the  field.  And  now  the 
night  drew  her  curtain  round  the  scene — darkness 
fell  on  the  mighty  hosts — the  flash  of  musketry  grew 
less  and  less  frequent — the  sullen  cannon  ceased  their 
roar,  and  the  bloody  battle  of  Eylau  was  over.  At 
midnight  the  Russians  began  to  retreat,  and  Bonaparte 
remained  master  of  the  field — thanks  to  the  brave  aad 
fiery-hearted  Davoust. 

CAVALRY   ACTION   AT   ECKMUHL. 

The  battle  of  Eckmuhl,  where  he  earned  the  title 
of  Prince,  was  distinguished  by  one  of  the  fiercest 
cavalry  actions  on  record ;  and  as  described  by  Stut- 
tenheim,  Pelet,  and  others,  must  have  been  a  magnifi- 
cent spectacle. 

Lannes,  who  had  recently  arrived  from  Spain,  took 
command  of  two  of  his  divisions,  and  with  two  such 
leaders,  that  renowned  corps  could  not  well  fail  of 
victory.  Coming  from  Landshut,  where  he  had  been 
victorious  the  day  before,  Davoust  and  his  brave 
troops  ascended  the  slope  whose  summit  looked  down 
on  the  villages  of  Eckmuhl  and  Laichling.  It  was  a 
spring  noon,  and  that  green  valley  lay  smiling  before 
them,  as  if  fresh  from  the  hand  of  its  Creator.  Era- 
bosomed  in  trees,  and  gardens,  and  winding  streams, 
ft  seemed  too  sacred  to  be  trampled  by  the  hoof  of 
war.  But  though  no  clangour  of  trumpets  broke  its 
repose,  and  the  trees  shook  their  green  tops  in  the 
passing  breeze,  and  the  meadows  spread  away  like 
carpets  from  the  banks  of  the  streams,  and  here  and 


MARSHAL     DAVOUST.  141 

there  the  quiet  herds  were  cropping  the  fresh  herbage, 
or  reclining  under  the  cool  shade ;  yet  there  was  aa 
ominous  stillness  in  the  fields.  No  husbandman  waa 
driving  his  plough,  and  no  groups  of  peasants  were 
seen  going  to  their  toil ;  hut  that  bright  valley  seemed 
holding  its  breath  in  expectation  of  some  fearful  catas- 
trophe. Banners  were  silently  fluttering  in  the  breeze ; 
and  in  the  openings  of  the  woods,  glittered  bayonets 
and  helmets,  for  the  Archduke  Charles  was  there 
with  his  army,  waiting  the  approach  of  the  enemy. 
Napoleon  gazed  long  and  anxiously  on  the  scene,  and 
then  issued  his  orders  for  the  attack.  Davoust  came 
fiercely  down  on  the  left,  while  Lannes,  with  two 
divisions  of  the  corps,  assailed  the  village  in  front. 
In  a  moment  all  was  uproar  and  confusion.  The 
roar  of  artillery,  the  rolling  fire  of  the  infantry,  and 
the  heavy  shock  of  cavalry,  made  that  village  tremble 
as  if  on  the  breast  of  a  volcano.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
shouts  of  Davoust's  columns  were  heard  over  the  noise 
of  battle,  as  they  drove  the  enemy  before  them.  His 
success  and  that  of  Lannes  together,  had  so  com- 
pletely turned  the  'Archduke's '  left,  that  he  was  com- 
pelled to  order  a  retreat.  The  streets  of  Eckmuhl  were 
piled  with  the  dead,  and  the  green  meadows  ploughed 
up  by  the  artillery,  were  red  with  flowing  blood. 

Napoleon  then  directed  an  advance  of  the  whole 
line.  The  Archduke  retired  behind  Eglofsheim, 
where  he  planted  powerful  batteries,  curtained  in 
front  by  twelve  squadrons  of  heavy  armed  cuiras- 
siers and  a  cloud  of  hussars.  The  French  infan- 
try, in  hot  purs  lit,  paused  as  they  saw  this  living 
wall  rise  before  them.  Napoleon  then  ordered  up 
his  own  cavalry  to  fall  upon  them.  The  hussars  on 
both  sides  charged  fii-st,  while  the  cuirassiers  looked 


J  42  CAVALRY     ACTION. 

oil.      After   witnessing    charge    after   charge,   leaving 
Jhe  victory  in  the  hands  of  neither  party,  the  Austrian 
cuirassiers   put  themselves  in  motion.     The   trumpets 
sounded  the  charge — thousands  of  helmets  rose  and 
fell   at   the   blast — the   plain    shook  with,   the  muffled 
tread  of   the   advancing  host,  and  the  next   moment 
they  burst  with  the  sound  of  thunder  on  the  French 
hussars — scattering  them  like  pebbles  from  their  feet ; — 
and  sweeping  in  one  broad,  resistless  wave  over  the 
field,    bore    down   with   their    terrible   front    on    the 
French  infantry.      But  there  was  &  counter  blast  of 
trumpets,  and  before  the  startling    echoes   had   died 
away,  Napoleon's   resistless   cuirassiers   emerged  into 
view.      Spurring  their  steeds  into  a  trot,  and   then 
into  a  headlong  gallop,  with  their  plumes  and  banners 
floating  back  in  the  breeze,  they  swept  forward  to  the 
shock.      The  spectacle  was  sublime,  and  each  army 
held  its  breath  in  awe  as  these  warlike  hosts  went 
rushing   on   each  other.       Their  dark   masses   looked 
like    two    thunder-clouds  riding   opposite   hurricanes, 
and   meeting    in   mid-heaven.      The    clouds   of  dust 
rolling    around   their    horses'  feet — the   long   lines   of 
flashing   helmets   above — and    the    forest    of   shaking 
eabres  over  all,  gave   them  a  most  terrible  aspect  aa 
they  swept  onward.     The  shock  in  the  centre   shook 
the  field;  and  the  two  armies  ceased  their  firing  to  wit- 
ness the  issue.     The  cannonier  leaned  on  his  gun.  and 
the  soldier  stooped  over  his  musket,  absorbed  in  the 
spectacle ;    while    in    the  first  rude    meeting    horses 
and    ridei-s,  by  scores   and   hundreds,   rolled   on   the 
plain.     Then  commenced  one  of  those  fierce  hand-to- 
hand    fights    so   seldom    witnessed    between    cavalry. 
In  the  first  heavy  shock  one  body  or  the  other  gives 
way,  and  a  few  minutes  decide  which  is  the  success 


MARSHAL     DAVOTJ8T.  . 

ful  charge.  But  here  it  was  like  two  waves  ot  e  pal 
strength,  and  volume,  and  velocity,  meeting  in  full 
career,  and  cresting  and  foaming  over  each  other  aa 
they  struggle  for  the  mastery.  The  sudden  silence 
that  fell  over  the  field  as  the  two  armies  ceased  firing> 
added  to  the  terror  of  the  scene.  The  sight  was  new, 
even  to  those  veteran  troops.  They  were  accustomed 
to  the  tumult  and  uproar  of  battle,  where  the  thunder 
of  cannon,  and  rattle  of  musketry,  and  shock  of  cav- 
alry, are  mingled  in  wild  confusion.  But  here  there 
was  nothing  heard  but  the  clear  ringing  of  steel,  save 
when  the  trumpets  gave  their  blast. 

It  was  not  the  noise  of  a  battle-field,  but  that  of  ten 
thousand  anvils  ringing  under  the  fierce  strokes  of  the 
hammer.  The  sun  went  down  on  the  struggle,  and  his 
farewell  rays  glanced  over  swaying  helmets  and 
countless  sabres  crossing  each  other  like  lightning  in 
the  air.  Twilight  deepened  over  the  field,  and  then  it 
was  one  broad  gleam  of  light  above  the  struggling 
hosts,  as  the  fire  flew  beneath  their  rapid  strokes. 
The  stars  came  out  upon  the  sky,  but  their  rays  were 
dimmed  by  the  dazzling  sparks  as  sword  crossed 
sword  or  glanced  from  steel  armour — and  at  length 
the  quiet  moon  came  sailing  in  beauty  up  the  heavens 
and  shed  her  reproving  light  on  the  strife.  But 
nothing  could  arrest  the  enraged  combatants.  Fight- 
ing in  the  light  of  their  own  flashing  steel,  they  sa\v 
neither  moon  nor  stars. 

At  length  the  ringing  strokes  grew  fainter  and 
fainter,  and  that  dark  mass  canopied  with  fire  of 
ts  own  making,  seemed  to  waver  to  and  fro  in 
Jie  gloom ;  and  then  the  heavy  tramp  of  rushing  steeds 
was  heard.  The  Austrians  after  leaving  two-thirds 
of  their  entire  number  stretched  on  the  plain,  broke 


144  HIS     ALLEGED     OBUELTF. 

and  fled,  and  horses  and  riders  lay  piled  together  l& 
heaps  on  the  rent  and  trodden  plain. 

The  next  day  the  victorious  army  was  at  the  gates  of 
Ratisbon. 

The  three  following  years  Davoust  spent  in  Poland, 
as  commander-in-chief  of  the  forces,  and  governor  of 
the  country.  His  conduct  here,  and  after  the  cam- 
paign of  Russia,  at  Hamburgh,  has  given  rise  to  se- 
vere accusations  against  him.  It  has  been  charac- 
terized as  "  ruthless  and  oppressive."  The  Abbe  de 
Pradt  declared  that  "  he  filled  all  Poland  with  dread 
and  brought  much  disgrace  on  the  French  name." 
To  acquire  such  a  reputation  from  an  ally  like  Po- 
land, goes  far  to  prove  that  his  character  as  a  General 
was  sullied  by  his  conduct  as  a  governor.  But  the 
character  an  enemy  may  give  of  their  conqueror,  es- 
pecially if  he  is  forced  to  levy  heavy  contributions, 
and  create  distress  among  the  inhabitants  in  ord«r  to 
support  his  army,  must  be  taken  with  many  grains 
of  allowance.  Thus,  the  title  of  the  "  Hamburgh 
Robespierre,"  which  the  citizens  of  Hamburgh  gave 
him,  while  he  held  the  city  against  the  combined  at- 
tacks of  the  allies,  may  or  may  not  be  just.  Their  as- 
sertioi.  is  of  no  consequence,  one  way  or  the  other.  If 
many  poor  families  were  turned  out  to  starve,  and  the 
hospitals  seized  for  his  own  sick  and  wounded,  and 
women  were  forced  to  work  at  the  fortifications,  and 
ruinous  contributions  were  levied,  and  much  distress 
produced,  as  is  asserted  ;  they  do  not  prove  the  epithet 
given  him  to  be  merited.  The  whole  question  turns 
on  the  fact,  whether  these  things  were  necessary  foj 
the  defence  of  the  place,  and  the  salvation  of  the  army. 
The  famine  and  pestilence  and  death  which  a  be 
sieged  army  usually  brings  on  the  inhabitants,  would 


MARSHAL     DAVOUST.  14f) 

6y  this  mode  of  reasoning  stamp  every  commander 
of  a  city  as  a  monster,  unless  he  surrendered  without 
resistance.  There  is  no  proof  that  Davoust  did  any- 
thing that  his  perilous  position  did  not  render  neces- 
sary. He  defended  himself  against  a  united  army; 
and  exhibited  that  tenacity  of  purpose  and  power  of 
will  over  the  most  discouraging  obstacles,  which  ren- 
dered him  illustrious. 

His  exactions  in  Poland  were  not  for  his  personal 
benefit,  but  for  the  maintainance  of  his  troops,  and  it 
is  unjust  to  stamp  a  commander  as  cruel  because  his 
situation  calls  for  severe  measures.  Contributions 
levied  for  personal  aggrandizement,  and  suffering  in- 
flicted from  personal  revenge  or  hatred,  leave  the  au- 
thor of  them  without  excuse ;  but  the  same  result? 
caused  by  an  effort  to  save  the  army  may  be  justifia- 
ble on  the  strictest  rules  of  war.  Napoleon,  both  in 
his  memoirs,  and  at  St.  Helena,  does  not  corroborate 
the  statements  of  English  historians  respecting  Da- 
voust. In  speaking  of  the  defence  of  Hamburgh,  he 
says  that  Davoust  was*  a  name  abhorred  by  the  inhabi- 
tants, but  adds,  "  when  a  general  receives  the  defence 
of  the  city,  with  orders  to  maintain  it  all  hazards, 
it  is  not  easy  for  him  to  receive  the  approbation  of 
the  inhabitants ;"  and  at  St.  Helena,  where  he  had  no 
motive  to  disguise  the  truth,  he  said,  "  I  do  not  think 
him  a  bad  character.  He  never  plundered  for  him- 
self. He  certainly  levied  contributions,  but  they  were 
for  the  army.  It  is  necessary  for  an  army,  especially 
when  besieged,  to  provide  for  itself." 

In  the  campaign  of  Russia,  Davoust  distinguished 
himself  and  his  corps  in  almost  every  great  battle. 
He  fought  bravely  at  Valentina,  and  his  corps  suffered 
severely.  But,  alas!  Guidin  at  the  head  of  his  in?. 


14:6  VALENTINA. 

mortal  division,  with  which  he  commenced  the  battle 
of  Anerstadt,  was  here,  while  heading  a  charge,  struck 
by  a  cannon  ball,  and  borne  dead  from  the  field,  The 
next  morning  this  division  showed  the  marks  of  the 
fierce  encounter  they  had  sustained.  As  Napoleon 
rode  past  it,  he  saw  nothing  but  skeletons  of  regi- 
ments left  in  it.  The  wearied  soldiers,  black  with  the 
smoke  of  battle,  stocd  looking  on  their  bent  bayonets, 
twisted  in  the  fierce  shock  of  the  day  before ;  while 
the  field  around  them  exhibited  a  perfect  wreck  of 
overthrown  trees,  shattered  wagons,  dead  horses,  and 
mangled  men.  He  was  so  deeply  impressed  with  the 
scene,  that  he  remarked,  "  with  such  men  you  could 
conquer  the  world" 

Davoust  opened  the  "  battle  of  the  giants  "  at  Boro- 
dino. As  he  moved  over  the  field  with  his  dense 
masses  towards  the  flame  of  the  batteries,  his  horse 
mortally  wounded,  fell  under  him,  and  he  himself 
received  a  blow,  which,  for  awhile,  rendered  him 
unable  to  command  his  troops.  Recovering,  however, 
he  rushed  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight;  just  as  Ney 
hurled  his  corps  on  the  centre.  These  two  illustrious 
chiefs  united  their  armies  and  fought  side  by  side,  in 
that  desperate,  unparalleled  struggle  for  the  heights  of 
Semonowskie. 

Previous  to  this,  Davoust  and  Murat  had  a  qnai- 
rel,  which  well  nigh  ended  in  a  fight.  Commanding 
the  advance  guard  together,  they  could  not  agree  on 
the  measures  to  be  adopted.  The  headlong  rashness 
of  Murat,  seemed  downright  madness  to  the  methodi- 
cal mind  of  Davoust,  and  the  latter  became  insubor- 
dinate under  the  command  of  the  former.  Thus  in 
approaching  "Wiasma,  the  cavalry  of  the  two  armies 
became  engaged,  and  Murat,  wishing  to  support  his 


MAK8HAL     DAVOU8T.  147 

own  with  lie  infantry,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  one 
of  Davoust's  divisions,  and  was  about  to  make  a 
charge,  when  the  latter  stepped  forth  and  forbade 
his  men  to  march — declaring  that  the  movement  was 
rash  and  perilous.  Mnrat  appealed  to  the  gallantry 
of  the  soldiers,  and  endeavored  to  lead  them  on,  but 
the  authority  of  Davoust  prevailed.  After  the  battle 
was  over,  the  "prcux  chevalier"  shut  himself  up  in 
his  tent  and  gave  way  to  a  violent  fit  of  rage,  de- 
claring that  Davoust  had  insulted  him,  and  he  would 
wipe  out  the  aifront  with  his  sword.  He  was  just 
starting  to  go  and  attack  him,  when  Belliard  prevented 
him  by  pointing  out  the  consequence  to  his  friends  and 
the  army.  He  was  persuaded  to  pocket  the  insult, 
though  in  the  effort  to  do  it,  tears  started  to  his  eyes, 
and  the  fearless  warrior  wept  that  he  could  not  avenge 
himself. 

But  through  all  this  campaign  Davoust  was  a  host 
in  himself.  When  the  retreat  from  Moscow  com- 
menced he  was  appointed  to  command  the  rear  guard, 
which  post  he  held  till  his  corps  was  almost  annihila- 
ted, and  then  he  joined  the  Emperor. 

In  the  battle  of  Krasnoi,  which  Napoleon  fought  in 
order  to  save  Davoust,  whom  the  Russians  threatened 
to  cut  off ;  the  Marshal  was  so  hard  pressed,  that  he 
lost  his  baton  and  a  great  part  of  his  corps.  Napoleon 
was  at  Krasnoi,  and  Davoust  struggling  up  from 
Smolensko,  enveloped  in  the  enemy.  Hearing  of 
his  Marshal's  peril,  he  drew  his  sword,  saying,  "I 
have  long  enough  acted  the  Emperor;  now  is  tl*e 
moment  to  become  the  General  again,"  and  marched 
on  foot  towards  Smolensko.  He  soon  descried  Davoust 
coming  up,  but  it  was  a  sight  enough  to  appal  the 
Ftoutest  heart.  He  was  moving  slowly  forward,  per- 


143  RETKEAT     FROM     RD88IA. 

fectly  enveloped  in  Cossacks  that  formed  a  dense  mov- 
ing mass,  of  which  he  and  his  devoted  followers  wen 
the  centre.  Added  to  this,  the  French  Marshal  in  his 
great  efforts  to  join  Napoleon,  was  marching  straight 
on  a  superior  force  of  the  Russians.  He  saved  but  the 
skeleton  of  his  corps. 

But,  though  no  longer  commanding  the  rear  guard, 
he  still  kept  halting  resolutely  in  every  defile,  and 
giving  battle  to  the  enemy — disputing  with  his  ac- 
customed bravery,  every  spot  of  ground  on  which  a 
defence  could  be  made.  It  was  there  he  showed  the 
advantage  of  that  stern  military  discipline,  which 
had  so  often  brought  on  him  the  charge  of  cruelty. 
He  and  Key  alone,  of  all  the  Marshals,  were  able  tc 
preserve  order  among  their  troops.  Through  the 
dreary  wilderness,  plunging  on  amid  the  untrodden 
snow,  without  provision  or  fuel,  stumbling  over  the 
fallen  ranks  of  their  comrades,  and  pressed  by  a 
victorious  enemy;  the  French  soldiers  gave  way 
to  despair,  and  flung  away  their  arms  and  lay 
down  to  die.  Amid  these  trying  circumstances,  Da- 
voust  exhibited  his  great  qualities.  Giving  way  to 
no  discouragement — disheartened  by  no  reverses,  he 
moved  amid  the  wreck  around  him,  like  one  above 
the  strokes  of  misfortune.  To  arrest  this  disorder 
among  his  troops,  he  caused  every  soldier  that  flung 
away  his  arms  to  be  stripped  by  his  companions 
and  insulted ;  and  thus  made  despair  fight  despair. 
He  arrived  at  Orcha,  with  only  four  thousand, 
out  of  the  seventy  thousand,  with  which  he  started. 
He  had  lost  every  thing  belonging  to  himself — 
endured  cold,  hunger,  and  fatigue,  without  a  mur- 
mur, and  entered  Orcha  with  the  fragments  ol 
his  army,  on  foot,  pale,  haggard,  and  wasted  with  trv 


MARSHAL     DAVOTJST.  141) 

mine.  He  had  not  even  a  shirt  to  put  on  his  back 
and  a  handkerchief  was  given  him  to  wipe  his  face, 
which  was  covered  with  frost.  A  loaf  of  bread  waa 
offered  him  which  he  devoured  with  the  eagerness  ol 
a  starving  man,  and  then  sat  down  exclaiming, 
"None  but  men  of  iron  frames  can,  support  such 
hardships ;  it  is  physically  impossible  to  resist  them 
and  there  are  limits  to  human  strength,  the  farthest 
of  which  have  been  endured." 

Segur  relates  an  anecdote  of  him  when  called  from 
the  wreck  of  the  army  to  Paris,  which  was  worthy  of 
Murat.  Passing  through  a  small  town  with  only  two 
others,  where  the  Russians  were  daily  expected,  their 
appearance  enraged  the  already  exasperated  popu- 
lace, and  they  began  to  press  with  murmurs  and  exe- 
crations, around  his  carriage.  At  length  some  of  the 
most  violent,  attempted  to  unharness  the  horses, 
when  Davoust  rushed  among  them,  seized  the  ring- 
leader, and  dragging  him  along,  bade  his  servants 
fasten  him  behind  his  carriage.  The  boldness  of  the 
action  perfectly  stunned  the  mob,  and  without  a 
show  of  resistance,  they  immediately  opened  a  passage 
for  the  carriage,  and  let  it  move  untouched  through 
their  midst,  with  its  prisoner  lashed  on  behind. 

Of  his  after  career,  I  have  already  spoken.  When 
Bonaparte  returned  from  Elba,  Davoust,  among  the 
lirst  to  welcome  him,  was  made  Minister  of  AVar. 
He  is  accused  of  having  treated  the  fallen  Napoleon, 
after  his  second  overthrow,  like  a  man  destitute  alike 
of  honour  or  shame.  But  there  is  no  proof  he  ever 
uttered  the  language  put  into  his  mouth,  and  he  held  on 
firmly  to  the  last.  He  finally  gave  in  his  adherence 
though  not  in  the  most  manly  or  heroic  style,  and  re- 
turned to  his  country  seat.  The  next  year,  however. 


150  BIB     DEATH;. 

lie  obtained  permission  to  reside  in  Paris,  and  three 
years  after,  1819,  he  Was  given  a  seat  in  the  chamber 
of  Peers.  He  lived  but  four  years  after  this,  and 
died  in  June,  1823,  of  a  pulmonary  affection.  Ilia  son 
uccoeded  to  his  wealth,  and  his  peerage. 


V. 


MAESHAL  ST.  CYK. 

Hia  Life— -Character — Profession  of  a  Painter — Combat  at  Biberech- 
Battle  of  Polotsk— Battle  of  Dresden. 

Louis  GOUVION  ST.  CYR  was  a  different  man  from 
many  of  the  other  marshals.  His  character  was 
more  firm  and  complete — settled  on  a  broader  basis, 
and  capable  of  greater  development.  Though  he 
eeems  not  to  have  run  his  career  with  the  same  unin- 
terrupted success  as  the  others,  and  he  is  sometimes 
called  unfortunate ;  yet  the  cause  is  to  be  found  in 
himself.  Less  impulsive  and  more  methodical  than 
those  daring  spirits  which  cast  light  around  the 
mighty  genius  they  followed — his  devotion  less  warm 
and  his  admiration  less  enthusiastic — his  complaints 
and  recriminations  meant  more  in  the  ears  of  Bona- 
parte than  those  of  such  men  as  Murat,  and  Junot, 
and  Lannes.  The  penetrating  mind  of  the  Emperor, 
which  fathomed  at  a  glance  every  character  that  came 
under  his  observation,  saw  less  to  love  and  more  to 
fear  in  St.  Cyr,  than  in  them.  The  anger  of  the  latter 
was  not  a  sudden  spark  that  kindled  and  went  out*, 
and  when  once  estranged  he  was  not  easily  won 
over.  Even  his  hatred  was  not  impulsive,  but  rooted 
itself  in  his  judgment  and  thoughts  rather  than  in  his 
passing  feelings.  Power  was  not  likely  to  be  confer- 
red on  a  man  whoso  stern  independence  diminished 


152  HIS     EARLY     LIFE. 

the  value  of  the  gift.  Still  he  had  no  cause  to  com 
plain  of  fortune,  nor  of  the  neglect  of  Napoleon,  if  we 
except  the  long  delay  of  his  marshal's  baton. 

He  was  born  at  Toul,  of  humble  parentage,  in 
April,  1764.  His  parents  designed  him  for  a  painter, 
and  in  his  youth  he  went  to  Home  to  study  the  great 
masters,  before  entering  on  his  career.  There  his 
mind  became  filled  with  those  wonderful  creations  of 
art,  and  his  youthful  ambition  pointed  to  a  field  as  un- 
like the  one  he  was  to  tread  as  it  well  could  be.  In 
ordinary  times  he  might  have  been  a  respectable 
painter,  perhaps  a  distinguished  one.  But  his  life 
was  to  be  one  of  action  rather  than  of  imagination — 
his  hand  was  to  wield  a  sword  instead  of  »a  pencil, 
and  to  enact  great  scenes  on  a  battle-field  rather  than 
trace  them  on  canvass.  The  breaking  out  of  the 
Revolution  summoned  him,  with  thousands  of  others, 
to  a  field  of  great  exploits,  and  overturning  all  at  once 
his  schemes  as  an  artist,  sent  him  forth  into  the  world 
a  soldier  of  fortune.  He  enlisted  as  a  private  in  a 
company  of  volunteers  and  marched  to  the  Rhine, 
where  the  Republic  was  making  its  first  struggle  for 
existence.  He  rose  rapidly  from  one  grade  to  another 
till,  at  the  age  of  thirty-one,  he  found  himself  general 
of  division.  His  promotion  was  not  owing  so  much  to 
his  personal  bravery  and  deeds  of  daring,  as  to  his 
knowledge  of  military  tactics. 

In  1798  he  combated  under  Massena  in  Italy  ; 
and  after  that  commander  was  compelled  to  with- 
draw from  Rome,  on  account  of  the  insurrection  of  hig 
troops,  was  appointed  in  his  place  and  by  his  reputa- 
tion as  a  just  man  and  his  wise  management,  re- 
stored subordination  and  discipline.  When  Bona 


MARSHAL     ST.     CTK.  153 

p&rte  returned  from  Egypt,  St.  Cyr  was  sent  to   the 
Rhine  to  take  part  in  that  victorious  campaign. 

The  theatre  on  which  Moreau  was  to  act,  was  the 
angle  made  by  the  Rhine,  where  it  bends  at  Basle 
from  its  western  direction,  and  flows  north  along  the 
shores  of  Germany  and  France.  The  famous  Black 
Forest  is  enclosed  in  this  bend  of  the  river.  Here 
the  Austrian  General,  M.  de  Kray,  was  posted,  with 
his  lines  reaching  almost  from  Constance  to  Stras- 
burg — ready  to  dispute  the  passage  of  the  Rhine  with 
the  French.  St.  Cyr  had  served  under  Moreau  a  long 
time,  and  on  this  very  ground,  and  the  latter  placed 
great  confidence  in  his  judgment.  The  third  corps, 
composed  of  twenty-five  thousand  men,  was  placed 
under  his  command,  and  formed  the  centre  of  the 
army.  But  at  the  outset  an  unhappy  cause  of  divi- 
sion arose  between  the  two  generals,  which  never 
healed,  and  ended  finally  in  an  open  rupture.  Not 
satisfied  with  dividing  the  army  into  four  corps,  each 
complete  in  itself,  with  cavalry,  artillery,  &c.,  thus 
leaving  much  discretionary  power  to  each  general, 
Moreau  insisted  on  taking  the  separate  command  of 
one  corps  himself.  This  St.  Cyr  opposed  on  the 
ground  that  his  attention  would  be  too  much  taken 
up  with  the  affairs  of  this  single  corps,  and  the  gen- 
eral movements  of  the  army  neglected.  The  end 
proved  that  he  was  right ;  but  Moreau,  persisting  in 
his  arrangements,  as  he  most  certainly  had  a  right  to 
do,  the  co-operation  of  the  former  was  not  so  hearty 
and  generous  as  it  ought  to  have  been.  Thus,  at  the 
battle  of  En  gen,  and  afterwards  at  Maeskirch,  where 
Moreau  was  hard  pushed,  and  came  near  losing  the 
day,  St.  Cyr  did  not  arrive  on  the  field  till  the  fight 

was   over.      The  officers   around   Moreau  accused  St 
9* 


154  HIS     QDA14REL     WITH     MORKAU. 

Cyr  of  treachery,  and  of  keeping  back  on  purpose 
to  allow  the  army  to  be  cut  to  pieces.  But  the  ti  >ith 
is,  the  latter,  offended  at  Moreau's  procedure,  ceased 
to  concern  himself  about  his  movements  and  confined 
himself  to  his  own  corps.  He  would  not  stir  without 
orders,  and  seemed  determined  to  make  Moreau  feel 
the  necessity  of  changing  his  conduct  by  acting  the 
part  of  a  mere  machine  ;  moving  or  stopping  as  he  was 
bidden,  and  doing  nothing  more.  Such  independent 
dilatoriness  would  have  cost  him  his  place  at  once 
under  Bonaparte.  His  tardiness  during  the  battle  of 
Maeskirch,  saved  the  Austrians  from  a  total  route. 
His  excuse  for  not  coming  up  was  that  he  had  re- 
ceived no  orders,  though  Moreau  insisted  he  had  sent 
them.  It  made  no  difference,  however;  he  was  in 
hearing  of  the  heavy  cannonading  in  front,  and 
knew  that  a  tremendous  struggle  was  going  on,  and 
the  fate  of  the  army,  perhaps,  sealing.  Had  Desaix 
acted  thus  at  Marengo,  Bonaparte  would  have  lost 
Italy.  Not  only  did  he  have  no  orders  to  march  on 
Marengo,  but  counter  ones  to  proceed  to  Novi — yet  no 
sooner  did  he  hear,  the  distant  roll  of  cannon  towards 
the  former  place  than  he  put  his  army  in  motion,  and 
inarching  it  at  the  top  of  its  speed,  arrived  just  in 
time  to  turn  a  ruinous  defeat  into  a  victory. 

The  next  day,  however,  St.  C}7r  would  have  wiped 
out  the  remembrance  of  this  negligence,  by  crushing 
the  Austrian  army  to  pieces,  had  Moreau  not  oeen 
fall  of  suspicions  and  averse  to  everything  but  tho 
most  mathematical  regularity.  The  Austrians,  in 
their  retreat,  were  crowded  on  the  shores  of  the 
Danube,  in  a  sort  of  half  circle,  made  by  the  bend  of 
the  river ;  so  that  there  was  no  room  to  manoeuvre, 
while  consternation  was  visible  in  their  ranks.  St 


MARSHAL     ST.      CYK.  155 

Cjr,  though  cool  and  steady,  saw  at  once  that  by  a 
firm  and  impetuous  charge,  he  could  roll  the  whole  un- 
wieldy mass  into  the  river,  and  waited  anxiously  the 
order  to  advance.  In  the  meantime  he  brought  for- 
ward some  of  his  guns,  and  trained  them  on  the  close 
packed  troops  of  the  enemy.  Finding,  however,  that 
his  cannonading  failed  to  draw  the  attention  of  Moreau 
to  the  spot,  he  sent  an  officer  to  him  requesting  permis- 
sion to  charge.  But  the  former  refused,  either  from 
too  great  prudence,  or,  as  it  is  more  probable,  from 
want  of  confidence  in  the  good  faith  of  his  general. 
The  opportunity  slipped  by,  and  the  Austrians  made 
good  their  passage  over  the  Danube. 

COMBAT    AT  BIBEKACH. 

A  few  days  after,  however,  St.  Cyr  performed  one 
of  those  brilliant  actions  which  stamp  the  man  ot 
genius.  The  Austrians  had  retreated,  and  Moreau.  did 
not  expect  to  overtake  them  for  another  day.  In 
the  mean  time,  St.  Cyr  had  received  orders  to  push  on 
beyond  Biberach,  a  little  town  which  lay  on  the  line 
of  the  enemy's  retreat.  But  to  his  surprise  on  coming 
up  to  this  village,  he  found  that  the  Austrians  had  re- 
crossed  the  Danube  and  marched  back  to  Biberach 
to  defend  it  on  account  of  the  magazines  it  contained. 
The  entrance  to  it  by  the  road  St.  Cyr  was  marching, 
•was  through  a  narrow  defile  which  opened  right  in 
front  of  the  village.  The  Austrian  general  thinking 
it  would  be  unsafe  to  put  the  defile  in  his  rear  left 
ten  thousand  men  to  guard  it  while  he  posted  his  army 
behind  the  town  on  an  eminence  forming  an  excellent 
position.  As  St.  Cyr  came  up  he  saw  at  once  the  ad 
vantage  it  gave  the  enemy.  But,  thinking  the  route  of 
the  ten  thousand  guarding  the  pass  would  shake  the 


156  COMBAT     AT     BIEKBACH, 

courage  of  the  whole  army  in  rear,  he  wished  to  order 
an  attack  immediately,  and  would  have  done  so  had  hia 
whole  corps  of  twenty-five  thousand  men  been  with 
him.  But  his  best  division  under  Ney,  had  been  sent 
to  observe  the  Danube,  and  though  orders  were  im- 
mediately despatched  to  hasten  him  up,  he  could  no- 
where be  found.  At  this  lucky  moment,  however,  he 
heard  the  firing  of  Richenpanse's  division,  which  had 
come  up  by  a  cross  road.  Thus  strengthened,  he  no 
longer  hesitated,  and  without  waiting  for  the  whole 
to  form  in  order,  he  hurled  his  own  battalions  on  the 
enemy.  The  order  to  charge  was  given,  and  his  brave 
troops  advanced  at  double  quick  time  to  the  onset 
Overthrown  and  routed,  the  enemy  swept  in  a  confused 
mass  through  the  defile  and  through  the  village,  hurry- 
ing onwards  to  the  heights  on  which  the  army  was 
posted.  Following  close  on  their  heels,  St.  Cyr  entered 
Biberach  in  hot  pursuit. 

Here,  however,  he  arrested  and  re-formed  his  men, 
and  began  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy's  position.  The 
river  Riess — crossed  by  a  single  bridge — and  a  marsh, 
lay  between  the  village  and  those  heights  on  which 
nearly  sixty  thousand  men  were  drawn  up  in  order  of 
battle.  It  was  a  bold  attempt  to  attack  with  a  little 
over  twenty  thousand  men  sixty  thousand  occupying 
BO  formidable  a  position ;  and  for  a  moment  he  hesi- 
tated in  his  course.  Pushing  forward  his  men,  how- 
ever, he  crossed  the  Riess,  and  the  marsh,  and  drew 
np  in  front  of  the  enemy.  At  this  moment  he  saw 
the  Austrians  he  had  routed  at  the  defile  approach  the 
army  on  the  heights.  The  ranks  opened  to  let  them 
pass  to  the  rear,  and  in  this  movement  his  clear  and 
practised  eye  saw  evidences  of  alarm  and  irresolution, 
which  convinced  him  at  once  that  the  firmness  of  the 


MARSHAL     ST.     CYK.  151 

enemy's  troops  was  shaken.  He  immediately  sent 
forward  some  skirmishers  to  tire  on  them.  The 
general  discharge  which  this  mere  insult  drew  forth 
made  it  still  clearer  that  the  whole  moral  power 
which  is  ever  greater  than  physical  strength,  was  on 
his  side;  and  though  the  enemy  outnumbered  him 
three  to  one,  and  occupied  a  splendid  position,  his  reso- 
lution was  immediately  taken.  Forming  his  three 
divisions  into  three  solid  columns,  he  began  to 
ascend  with  a  firm  step  the  slopes  of  the  Wit- 
temberg. 

Nothing  can  be  more  sublime  than  this  faith  in  the 
moral  over  the  physical.  This  was  not  the  headlong 
rashness  of  Murat,  reckless  alike  of  numbers  or  posi- 
tion, but  the  clear  calculations  of  reason.  St.  Cyr, 
who  was  one  of  the  ablest  tacticians  in  the  French 
army,  perceived  at  a  glance  that  on  one  side  were  num- 
bers and  irresolution,  on  the  other  confidence  and 
courage.  When  the  Austrians  saw  those  columns 
scaling  the  mountain  side  with  such  an  intrepid  step 
and  bold  presence,  they  were  seized  with  a  panic,  and 
turned  and  fled,  leaving  thousands  of  prisoners  in  the 
hands  of  St.  Cyr.  He  carried  out  here  successfully 
the  very  plan  he  proposed  to  Moreau  when  the  ene 
my  lay  packed  in  a  curve  of  the  Danube. 

The  Austrians  retreated  to  Ulm,  which  was  strong- 
ly fortified,  and  St.  Cyr,  who  had  tried  the  metal  oi 
their  soldiers  ;  and  who,  from  a  convent  that  overlook- 
ed the  enemy,  saw  and  comprehended  their  position, 
begged  permission  to  carry  it  by  assault.  In  this,  he 
was  joined  by  Ney  and  Richenpanse,  who  offered  to 
answer  for  the  success  of  it  on  their  own  heads.  But 
Moreau  did  everything  by  manoeuvres,  and  preferring 
a  less  certain  good  to  a  probable  greater  one ;  refused 


159  COMBAT     ABOUND     DLM. 

iiis  consent.  A  man  never  storms  through  mathe- 
matics, and  to  Moreau,  war  was  a  mathematical  sci- 
ence. A  short  time  after,  however,  one  of  his  grand 
manoeuvres  came  very  near  destroying  his  left  wing. 
Pretending  he  was  about  to  march  to  Munich,  he  ex- 
tended his  line  over  the  space  of  sixty  miles,  leaving 
St.  Suzanne  with  15,000  men  alone  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  Danube.  If  the  Austrian  General  had 
possessed  any  genius,  or  even  common  sense,  ho 
would  have  crushed  this  division  at  a  blow,  by  fall- 
ing with  his  entire  force  upon  it.  As  it  was,  how- 
ever, he  sent  a  large  body  of  cavalry  to  assail  it,  which 
enveloped  it  like  a  cloud,  threatened  to  sweep  it  from 
the  field.  In  the  meantime,  masses  of  Austrian  infan- 
try came  pouring  out  of  Ulm  to  second  the  attack, 
until  these  fifteen  thousand  brave  French  were  com- 
pelled to  resist  the  onset  of  twenty-four  thousand 
Austrian  infantry,  and  twelve  thousand  cavalry. 
Retreating  in  squares,  they  mowed  down  their  assail- 
ants with  their  rolling  fire,  steadily  pursuing  their 
way  over  the  field.  Hour  after  hour  did  the  combat 
rage,  and  though  the  ground  was  strewed  with  the  dead, 
not  a  square  broke,  not  a  battalion  fled.  St.  Cyr, 
posted  on  the  other  side  on  the  river,  at  some  distance 
from  the  scene — where  the  Iller  joins  the  Danube — 
hearing  the  cannonading,  hastened  forward  to  the  spot 
It  was  not  Moreau  in  danger,  but  St.  Suzanne,  and 
*je  waited  for  no  orders.  Coming  up  opposite  the 
field  of  battle,  he  found  all  the  bridges  broken  dowu, 
and  immediately  planting  his  artillery  so  as  to  covei 
a  ford,  across  which  he  was  beginning  tD  pour  his  in- 
trepid columns  ;  he  opened  a  fierce  fire  on  the  enemy. 
Bearing  this  cannonading,  and  fearing  for  their  re 


MARSHAL     ST.     CTE.  158 

treat,  the  Austrians  immediately  began  to  retire  toward* 
Dim. 

After  this  engagement,  from  the  movements  ot  M» 
reau,  the  whole  army  expected  an  assault  on  the  city, 
but  after  various  manoeuvres,  this  cautious  leader 
established  his  army  and  determined  to  remain  inac- 
tive till  he  heard  from  Bonaparte,  who  was  descend- 
ing into  Italy.  The  Generals  complained — St.  Cyr 
openly  remonstrated,  and  had  many  fierce  alterca- 
tions with  him.  The  unequal  distribution  of  pro- 
visions, was  another  cause  of  dissension,  and  bitter 
recriminations.  General  Grenier,  arriving  at  this 
time,  St.  Cyr  wished  to  resign  his  command  to  him, 
but  Moreau,  refusing  his  consent,  he  retired  altogether 
from  the  army  under  the  plea  of  ill  health. 

In  October  of  the  same  year,  he  is  seen  fighting 
bravely  in  Italy.  The  next  year  he  was  called  by 
Bonaparte  to  the  Council  of  State,  and  the  year  fol- 
lowing, (1801,)  took  the  place  of  Lucien  Bonaparte 
as  Ambassador  to  the  Court  of  Madrid.  He  was 
soon  after  appointed  to  the  command  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan army,  where  he  remained  inactive  till  1805,  when 
he  was  made  Colonel  General  of  the  Cuirassiers,  and 
received  the  Grand  Eagle  of  the  Legion  of  Honour. 
In  the  following  campaigns  of  Prussia  and  Poland,  he 
distinguished  himself,  and  in  1807,  was  appointed 
Governor  of  Warsaw.  After  the  peace  of  Tilsit,  he 
was  sent  into  Spain,  where  he  won  but  few  laurels 
and  indulging  in  unjust,  unmanly  complaints,  was 
finally  superseded  by  Augereau.  Two  years  of  dis- 
grace and  exile  followed.  But  in  1812,  in  the  Rus- 
sian campaign,  he  appears  again,  and  exhibits  the 
same  great  qualities  of  a  commander,  and  fighting 


160  1118     CHARACTER. 

bravely  at  Polotsk,  receives  the  long  withheld  though 
long  deserved  Marshal's  baton. 

The  next  year,  he  commanded  at  Dresden,  when 
it  was  assailed  by  the  allies ;  and  after  their  repulse 
held  possession  of  it  till  the  disasters  that  overtook 
the  French  army,  left  him  once  more  at  the  mercy  ol 
the  allies,  and  he  was  compelled  to  capitulate.  He 
returned  to  France  after  the  restoration,  and  was  given, 
by  Louis,  a  seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Peers. 

On  the  landing  of  Napoleon  from  Elba,  he  retired 
into  the  country  and  remained  there  inactive,  till  the 
second  overthrow  of  the  Empire  at  Waterloo.  On 
the  king's  return  he  was  honoured  with  the  order  ol 
St.  Louis  and  presented  with  the  portfolio  of  the  war 
Ministry.  In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  however, 
fle  retired  because  he  could  not  give  his  consent  to 
the  treaty  of  Paris.  But  two  years  after  he  was 
cnade  Minister  of  the  Marine,  from  whence  he  passed 
to  the  War  Office.  While  in  this  department  he  suc- 
ceed ed  in  getting  a  law  passed  by  which  no  man 
was  to  receive  a  commission  in  the  army  till  he  had 
served  two  years  as  a  soldier.  This  thoroughly 
democratic  measure,  sprung  from  his  experience  of 
the  superior  efficiency  of  those  officers  who  had  arisen 
from  the  ranks,  and  also,  perhaps,  from  a  desire  to 
pay  a  compliment  to  his  own  career.  In  1819,  being 
strongly  opposed  to  the  proposed  change  in  the  law 
of  elections,  he  resigned  his  office,  and  never  after 
appeared  in  public  life. 

The  great  characteristics  of  St.  Cyr,  were  clear- 
sightedness on  the  field  of  battle ;  perfect  method  in 
all  his  plans,  and  a  cold,  deep  spirit.  However,  he 
might  fail  in  a  great  campaign — on  the  field*  where  an 
engagement  was  to  take  place,  he  was  regarded  one1 


MARSHAL     ST.     OYK.  16J 

of  the  ablest  tacticians  in  the  army.  His  eye  took  in 
the  enemy's  position,  and  his  own  at  a  glance,  and  lie 
saw  at  once  the  best  course  to  be  taken.  In  forming 
his  plans  he  seemed  to  omit  no  detail  necessary  to 
success,  while  the  moral  feeling  of  the  two  armies 
was  not  forgotten.  The  latter  he  calculated  with  the 
same  nicety  he  did  numbers ;  and  it  is  interesting  to 
observe  what  reliance  he.  always  placed  upon  it.  He 
possessed,  to  a  certain  extent,  that  combination  which 
distinguished  Napoleon,  and  belonged  more  or  less  to 
all  his  great  Generals,  viz :  clearness  and  rapidity  of 
thought.  But  this  power  in  him  arose  from  a  differ- 
ent cause  than  with  them.  Napoleon,  and  Key,  and 
Massena,  and  Kleber,  possessed  strong  minds  and 
strong  imaginations  also,  yet  they  were  so  well  bal- 
anced as  only  to  strengthen  each  other.  The  imagi- 
nation never  became  so  excited  as  to  confuse  the  ope- 
rations of  reason,  while  the  judgment  never  acquired 
such  a  mastery  as  in  Moreau,  that  inspiration  and 
impulse  could  have  no  control.  Cool,  clear-headed,  and 
self-collected,  they  planned  with  the  sobriety  of  reason, 
and  yet  kept  it  in  such  abeyance  that  in  moments  ol 
excitement  they  could  be  carried  away  by  the  impulse 
of  genius.  Their  imaginations  acted  as  a  powerful 
stimulant  to  the  mental  powers,  giving  them  greater  ra- 
pidity, without  forcing  them  into  confusion  ;  but  St.  Cyr 
possessed  none  of  this  impulsiveness.  Pie  frequently 
acted  as  if  he  did,  but  his  most  headlong  movements 
were  as  much  the  result  of  calculation  as  his  soberest 
plans.  Consummate  art  took  the  place  of  a  vivid  ima- 
gination with  him.  He  could  calculate  the  inspirations 
of  genius,  and  knew  when  he  ought  to  be  moved  by 
impulse  ;  his  mind  had  great  rapidity  of  movement, 
but  it  was  the  rapidity  of  mere  logic.  There  was  ;; 


162  HIS     CHARACTER. 

certainty  in  his  operations  on  which  one  could  de 
peud,  and  he  himself  placed  the  most  implicit  confi 
dence  in  his  own  judgment.  lie  had  all  the  qualities 
of  a  great  commander,  and  but  for  his  unsocial  dis- 
position, and  cold,  repulsive  nature,  would  doubtless, 
early  have  attained  to  the  highest  honours  of  the  Em- 
pire. Napoleon  rewarded  the  brave,  but  lavished  his 
choicest  favour  on  the  brave-  that  loved  him.  Never 
governed  by  attachment  himself,  how  could  St.  Cyr  ex- 
pect others  to  be  swayed  by  it  in  their  treatment  of 
him.  Nevertheless,  Napoleon  always  treated  him  with 
justice,  and  frequently  rewarded  him  with  places  of 
trust.  The  neglect  to  make  him  marshal ;  when,  on 
assuming  the  imperial  crown,  he  made  out  that  immor- 
tal list,  was  apparently  undeserved;  and  gave  rise, 
perhaps  justly,  to  some  charges  of  favouritism. 

St.  Cyr  was  an  obstinate  man  in  the  prosecution  oi 
his  own  plans,  and  equally  so  in  his  opposition  to 
those  which  differed  from  them  ;  and  though  ready  to 
condemn  others,  when  thwarted  or  condemned  him- 
self, he  flew  into  a  passion,  and  his  head  became  filled 
with  all  forms  of  suspicion.  Thus,  when  he  and 
Moreau  could  not  agree,  and  he  found  there  was  a 
clique  around  the  commander-in-chief,  arrayed  against 
him — instead  of  performing  his  duty  bravely,  and  win- 
ning back  that  confidence  which  others  had  unjustly 
deprived  him  of — he  first  became  remiss  and  inactive, 
then  fierce  and  condemnatory,  and  finally  threw  up 
his  command.  He  ought  to  have  known  that  was  no 
way  cither  to  screen  himself  from  unjust  charges, 
or  win  his  way  to  power.  He  did  not  seem  to  know 
the  meaning  of  the  device,  "I  bide  my  time."  Tln.s 
also  in  Spain,  when  placed  over  the  army  destined  to 
act  in  Catalonia,  he  became  peevish,  complaining 


MARSHAL     ST.     CYB.  163 

and  foolish.  It  was  true,  the  array  was  not  an 
effective  one  ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  the  enemy 
he  had  to  contend  with  was  not  a  dangerous 
one.  Besides,  it  was  the  greatest  compliment  Na- 
poloon  could  pay  him,  to  appoint  him  over  a  poor 
army  from  which  he  expected  victory.  The  Em- 
peror knew  it  was  badly  conditioned,  but  he  could 
not  help  it,  and  the  only  remedy  of  the  evil,  in  his 
power,  was  to  place  an  able  and  skillful  commander 
over  it.  A  poor  general  would  have  insured  its  ruin. 
Yet  St.  Oyr,  instead  of  winning  confidence  and  re- 
nown, by  executing  great  things  with  small  means, 
began  to  grumble.  Ney,  when  conducting  the  re- 
treat from  Russia,  created  means  where  an  ordinary 
man  would  have  declared  it  impossible ;  and  out  oi 
his  very  defeats  and  disasters,  wove  for  himself  the 
brightest  wreath  that  hangs  on  his  tomb.  But  St. 
Cyr  not  only  complained,  though  successful  in  all  his 
engagements — winning  every  battle — but  accused  Na- 
poleon of  placing  him  there  on  purpose  to  ruin  him, 
because  he  had  belonged  to  the  army  of  the  Rhine, 
under  Moreau ;  and  this  splenetic  and  ridiculous  state- 
ment of  his,  has  been  taken  up  and  incorporated  in 
English  histories,  as  an  evidence  of  the  Emperor's 
meanness.*  How  such  an  accusation  could  have 
received  a  sober  thought,  is  passing  strange. 

Napoleon,  at  the  head  of  the  French  empire,  nour- 
ished such  a  hostility  to  Moreau,  for  winning  the 
battle  of  Hohenlinden,  which  he,  as  First  Consul, 

*  This  silly  accusation  has  found  its  way  into  one  of  our  school  books,  "Camp  an<f 
Ccurt  of  Napoleon,"  which  contains  many  errors,  in  fact — as,  for  instance,  it  states 
thmt  Moncey  was  at  the  battle  of  Marengo,  when  he  was  on  the  Tessino,  and  knew  no. 
thing  of  the  engagement  till  it  was  over.  It  says,  also,  that  he  wag  in  the  Russian  c» 
peditio»i,  wheii  he  was  not.  Mr.  Alison  reiterates  the  same  nonsense. 


161  HIS     CHARACTER. 

sent  him  there  on  purpose  to  gain,  and  on  whose 
success  depended  his  own — that  years  after  he  trans 
ferred  it  to  one  of  Moreau's  Generals,  by  placing  him 
over  a  poor  army  in  Spain,  at  a  time  he  was  straining 
every  nerve  to  subdue  the  kingdom.  The  simple 
statement  of  the  charge,  and  the  circumstances 
connected  with  it,  shows  it  to  be  the  absurdest  thing 
that  ever  entered  a  diseased  brain.  Besides,  Napoleon 
did  not  take  this  round  about  way  to  disgrace  those 
who  were  displeasing  to  him.  St.  Cyr  ought  to  have 
seen  this  after  he  was  superseded  by  Augereau ;  and 
not  have  incorporated  such  a  silly  charge  into  his 
work. 

Offended  and  proud,  he  left  his  command  to  hurry 
Aaigereau  to  assume  his  place,  thus  evincing  openly  his 
comternpt  for  the  rebuke  the  Emperor  had  given  him 
for  his  folly.  Two  veal's  of  disgrace  and  exile,  showed 
that  Napoleon  knew  a  shorter  way  to  ruin  the  Generals 
that  offended  him. 

The  truth  is,  St.  Cyr  was  placed  where  he  was* 
compelled  to  put  forth  great  efforts  without  win 
ning  much  renown.  It  was  hard  work  without 
corresponding  reward,  but  he  should  have  waited 
patiently  for  the  latter  on  some  more  fortunate  field  ; 
remembering  that  a  good  General  is  known  by  his 
sacrifices  as  much  as  by  his  victories.  Once  resign- 
ing his  command  in  anger,  and  once  disgraced  for 
the  same  reason,  argues  very  poorly  for  the  amiability 
of  the  man. 

Previous  to  this,  in  1807,  he  fought  bravely  in  the 
campaign  of  Prussia  and  Poland,  and  especially  at 
ITeilsberg,  though  there  was  no  opportunity  offered 
for  great  actions,  as  he  commanded  only  a  divisioc 


MARSHAL     ST.     C  Y  ft .  16ft 

under  Soult.  But  in  1812,  as  before  remarked,  in  the 
great  Russian  expedition,  he  had  an  opportunity  to 
distinguish  himself,  and  won  that  place  among  the 
renowned  leaders  that  followed  Napoleon,  which  his 
services  richly  merited. 

BATTLE   OF  POLOTSK. 

In  the  first  battle  of  Polotsk,  in  the  advance  to 
Moscow,  Oudinot,  with  his  corps,  was  assaulted  by 
Wittgenstein,  and  the  French  Marshal  was  wounded. 
St.  Cyr  immediately  succeeded  him  as  command  er- 
iii-chief  of  the  army,  composed  of  thirty  thousand 
men.  This  was  what  he  had  long  desired.  Dis- 
liking to  serve  under  any  other  officer,  the  moment 
his  actions  were  unfettered,  he  exhibited  his  great 
qualities  as  a  military  leader.  He  immediately 
adopted  his  own  plan  of  operations,  aud  with  that 
clearness  of  perception  and  grasp  of  knowledge  which 
distinguished  him,  proceeded  to  put  it  in  execution. 
For  a  whole  day  after  the  engagement  in  which. 
Oudinot  was  wounded,  he  kept  the  Russian  General 
quiet,  by  sending  proposals  respecting  the  removal 
of  the  wounded,  and  by  making  demonstrations  of  a 
retreat.  But  as  soon  as  darkness  closed  over  the 
armies,  he  began  in  silence  to  rally  his  men,  and  ar- 
ranging them  in  three  columns,  by  five  in  the  morn- 
ing was  ready  for  battle.  The  signal  was  given—- 
the artillery  opened  its  destructive  fire,  and  rousing 
np  the  Russian  bear  ere  the  morning  broke,  his  three 
columns  poured  in  resistless  strength  on  the  enemy, 
carrying  every  thing  before  them.  But  even  in  the 
moment  of  victory,  St.  Cyr  came  very  near  being 
killed.  A  French  battery,  suddenly  charged  by  a 


166  BATTLE     OF    POLOTSK. 

company  of  Russian  horse  was  carried,  and  the  brigade 
Bent  to  support  it  being  overthrown  and  borne  back 
over  the  cannon  that  dared  not  open  lest  they  should 
sweep  down  their  own  troops  ;  spread  disorder  in  their 
flight.  The  caunoniers  were  sabred  at  their  pieces, 
mid  the  French  horse,  overwhelmed  in  the  general 
confusion,  also  fled,  overturning  the  Commander-in- 
chief  and  his  staff,  and  sending  terror  and  dismay 
through  the  ranks.  St.  Oyr  was  compelled  to  flee  on 
foot,  and  finally  threw  himself  into  a  ravine  to  pre- 
sent being  tramped  under  the  hoofs  of  the  charging 
horse.  The  French  cuirassiers,  however,  soon  put 
an  end  to  this  sudden  irruption,  and  drove  the  daring 
dragoons  into  the  woods.  The  victory  was  complete, 
and  a  thousand  prisoners  remained  in  the  hands  of 
St.  Cyr,  and  the  Marshal's  baton  was  given  him  as  a 
reward  for  his  bravery. 

Here  he  remained  for  two  months,  while  Wittgen- 
stein kept  at  a  respectful  distance.  In  the  meantime 
Moscow  had  blazed  over  the  army  of  the  Empire,  and 
the  disheartened  and  diminished  host  was  about  to 
turn  its  back  on  the  smouldering  capital  and  flee  from 
the  fury  of  a  northern  winter.  Wittgenstein,  who 
had  not  been  idle,  though  he  dared  not  to  attack  St. 
Cyr,  had,  by  constant  reinforcements,  more  than 
doubled  his  army.  The  French  commander,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  carried  on  a  partizan  warfare  for  two 
months ;  whicii,  together  with  sickness  and  suffering, 
had  reduced  his  army  one  half — so  that  in  the  middle 
of  October  he  had  but  seventeen  thousand  men,  while 
the  Russian  army  amounted  to  fifty-two  thousand. 
To  add  to  the  peril  of  his  position,  another  Russian 
army,  under  Steingell,  was  rapidly  moving  down  to 
hem  him  in ;  while  Napoleon,  three  hundred  miles  ic 


MARSHAL     ST.     CYK.  167 

the  rear,  was  sealing  his  fate  by  tarrying  around 
Moscow.  Hacdonald  was  the  only  person  from 
whom  he  could  hope  for  succour,  and  he  sent  pressing 
requests  to  him  for  reinforcements.  But  that  brave 
commander  had  already  discovered  signs  of  defection 
in  his  Prussian  allies,  and  dared  not  weaken  his  force. 
St.  Cyr,  therefore,  was  left  to  meet  his  fate  alone. 
As  if  on  purpose  to  insure  his  ruin,  he  was  without 
intrenchments,  not  having  received  orders  from  the 
Emperor  to  erect  them.  Secure  of  his  prey,  the  Rus- 
sian General,  on  the  18th  October,  bore  down  with 
his  overwhelming  force  on  the  French  lines. 

The  battle  at  once  became  furious.  St.  Cyr  was 
one  of  the  first  struck.  Smitten  by  a  musket  ball,  he 
could  neither  ride  his  horse  nor  keep  his  feet — still  he 
would  not  retire.  Every  thing  depended  on  his  pre- 
sence and  personal  supervision ;  for  the  struggle 
against  such  fearful  odds  was  to  be  a  stern  one.  Pale 
and  feeble,  yet  self-collected  and  clear  minded  as 
ever,  he  was  borne  about  by  his  officers,  amid  the 
storm  of  battle,  cheering  on  his  men,  again  and 
again  to  the  desperate  charge.  Seven  times  did  the 
Russian  thousands  sweep  like  a  resistless  flood  over 
the  partial  redoubts,  and  seven  times  did  St.  Cyr, 
steadily  hurl  them  back,  till  night  closed  the  scene, 
and  fourteen  thousand  men  slept  on  the  field  of  vic- 
tory they  had  wrung  from  the  grasp  of  fifty  thousand. 
When  the  morning  dawned,  the  Kussian  General 
seemed  in  no  hurry  to  renew  the  attack.  St.  Cyr 
arose  from  his  feverish  couch,  where  the  pain  from 
his  wound,  and  his  intense  anxiety  had  kept  him 
tossing  the  long  night ;  and  was  borne  again  to  the 
field  of  battle.  He  perceived  at  once  that  the  hesi- 
tation of  the  enemy  did  not  arise  from  *ear  of  a  re- 


168  BATTLE     OF     POLOTSK. 

pulse,  but  from  some  expected  manoeuvre,  which 
was  to  be  the  signal  of  assault;  and  so  he  stood 
in  suspense,  hour  after  hour,  firmly  awaiting  the 
approach  of  the  dense  masses  that  darkened  the  woods 
before  him,  till,  at  ten  o'clock,  an  aid-de-camp  was 
seen  spurring  at  a  furious  gallop  over  the  bridge, 
the  hoofs  of  his  horse  striking  fire  on  the  pavements 
as  he  dashed  through  the  village  towards  the  com- 
mander-in-chief.  Steingell,  with  thirteen  thousand 
Russians  had  come,  and  was  rapidly  marching  along 
the  other  sTde  of  the  river  to  assail  him  in  rear.  Hem- 
med in  between  these  two  armies,  St.  Cyr  must  in- 
evitably be  crushed.  Imagine,  for  a  moment,  his 
desperate  condition.  Polotsk  stands  on  the  left  side 
of  the  Dwina,  as  you  ascend  it,  with  only  one  bridge 
crossing  the  river  to  the  right  bank.  Behind  this 
wooden  town,  St.  Cyr  had  drawn  up  his  forces,  in  or- 
der of  battle,  with  the  formidable  masses  of  the  Rus- 
sian army  in  front,  threatening  every  moment  to  over- 
whelm him.  In  the  meantime,  word  was  brought  that 
thirteen  thousand  fresh  troops  were  approaching  the 
bridge  on  the  other  side,  cutting  off  all  hopes  of  re- 
treat. Here  were  two  armies,  numbering  together 
more  than  sixty  thousand  men,  drawing  every  mo- 
ment nearer  together,  to  crush  between  them  four- 
teen thousand  French  soldiers,  commanded  by  a 
wounded  General.  But  St.  Cyr,  forgetting  his  wound, 
summoned  all  his  energies  to  meet  the  crisis  that  was 
approaching.  He  gave  his  orders  in  that  quiet,  de- 
termined tone,  which  indicates  the  settled  purpose  ol 
a  stern  and  powerful  mind.  Unseen  by  Wittgenstein, 
he  despatched  three  regiments  across  the  river  to 
check  the  progress  of  Steingell,  while  he,  with  his 
weakened  forces,  should  withstand  the  shock  of  the 


MA.KSHAL     ST.     CTR.  IGfJ 

Russian  army  before  him  as  best  he  could.  Thus 
the  two  armies  stood  watching  each  other,  while  the 
roar  of  artillery  on  the  farther  side,  approached  near- 
er and  nearer  every  moment,  showing  that  the  enemy 
was  sweeping  before  him  the  few  regiments  that  had 
been  sent  to  retard  him.  At  length  the  French  bat- 
teries, which  had  been  planted  on  the  farther  bank  ol 
the  Dwina  to  protect  the  camp,  were  wheeled  round, 
ready  to  fire  on  the  new  enemy,  which  was  expected 
every  moment  to  emerge  into  view.  At  this  sight,  a 
loud  shout  of  joy  rolled  along  the  Russian  lines,  foi 
they  now  deemed  their  prey  secure.  But  the  Russian 
general  still  delayed  the  signal  of  attack,  till  ho 
should  see  the  head  of  Steingell's  columns. 

In  consternation  the  French  generals  gathered 
around  St.  Cyr,  urging  him  to  retreat,  but  he  steadily 
refused  all  their  counsel  and  urgent  appeals,  declaring 
that  with  his  first  retrogade  movement,  the  Russian 
army  would  descend  upon  him,  and  that  his  only  hope 
was  in  delay.  If  Steingell  did  not  make  his  appear- 
ance before  dark,  he  could  retreat  under  the  cover  of 
night ;  but  to  fall  back  now,  was  to  precipitate  an  at- 
tack that  was  most  unaccountably  delayed.  For  three 
mortal  hours  he  stood  and  listened  to  the  roar  of  the 
enemy's  cannon,  shaking  the  banks  of  the  river  as  it 
mowed  its  way  towards  the  bridge — now  gazing  on 
the  opposite  shore,  now  on  the  fifty  thousand  Russians 
before  him  in  order  of  battle  and  now  on  his  own 
band  of  heroes,  till  his  agitation  became  agony.  Mi- 
nutes seemed  lengthened  into  hours,  and  he  kept  in- 
cessantly pulling  out  his  watch,  looking  at  it,  and 
then  at  the  tardy  s'in,  which  his  eager  gaze  seemed  al- 
most to  push  down  the  sky. 

The  blazing  fire-ball,   as    it  stooped  to  the    western 
10 


170  BATTLE     OF     POLOTSK. 

horizon,  sending  its  flashing  beams  over  the  bat 
tie  array  on  the  shores  of  the  Dwina,  never  befora 
seemed  so  slow  in  its  motions.  St.  Cyr  afterwards  de* 
clared  that  he  never,  in  his  life,  ,vas  so  agitated  as  in 
the  three  hours  of  suspense  he  then  endured.  The 
shock  and  the  overthrow  can  be  borne  by  a  brave 
heart,  but  in  a  state  of  utter  uncertainty,  to  stand  and 
watch  the  dial's  face,  on  whose  slow-moving  shadow 
rests  everything,  is  too  much  for  the  calmest  heart. 

At  length,  when  within  a  half-hour's  march  of 
tiie  bridge,  Steingell  halted.  Had  he  kept  on  a  few 
minutes  longer,  the  head  of  his  columns  would  have 
appeared  in  sight,  which  would  have  been  the  sig- 
nal of  a  general  attack.  Nothing  could  be  more  fa- 
vourable to  St.  Cyr  than  this  unexpected  halt ;  and 
*  dense  fog  soon  after  spreading  over  the  river,  wrap- 
ping the  three  armies  in  its  folds,  hastened  on  the  night, 
and  relieved  his  anxious  heart.  The  artillery  was 
immediately  sent  over  the  bridge,  and  his  divisions 
were  pressing  noiselessly  as  possible  after  it,  when 
Legrand  foolishly  set  fire  to  his  camp,  so  as  not  to  let 
it  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  The  other  divis- 
ions followed  his  example,  and  in  a  moment  the  whole 
line  was  in  a  blaze.  This  rash  act  immediately  re- 
vealed to  the  enemy  the  whole  movements.  Its  bat- 
teries opened  at  once — the  roused  columns  came  hur- 
rying onward,  while  blazing  bombs,  hissing  through 
the  fog  in  every  direction,  fell  on  the  town  which  blazed 
•up  in  the  darkness,  making  a  red  and  lurid  light,  by 
which  the  two  armies  fought — the  one  for  existence, 
the  other  for  victory.  Amid  the  burning  dwellings 
the  wounded  Marshal  stood,  and  contested  every  inch 
of  ground  with  the  energy  of  despair ;  and  slowly 
retiring  over  the  blazing  timbers,  by  the  light  of 


MARSHAL     ST.     CTK.  171 

the  conflagration,  brought  off  his  army  in  perfect 
order,  though  bleeding  at  every  step.  It  was  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  before  the  Russians  got  pos- 
session of  the  town.  Iii  the  meantime,  St.  Cyr  had 
gained  the  farther  bank,  and  destroyed  the  bi'dge  in 
the  face  of  the  enemy,  and  stood  ready  for  Steingell, 
who  had  soundly  slept  amid  all  the  uproar  and  strife  of 
that  wild  night.  The  latter  seemed  under  the  influence 
of  some  unaccountable  spell,  and  could  not  have  acted 
worse,  had  he  been  bribed  by  the  French.  In  the 
morning,  when  he  aroused  himself  for  battle,  St.  Cyr 
was  upon  him,  and  after  relieving  him  of  one-sixth  of 
his  army,  drove  him  into  the  wood  several  miles  from 
the  place  of  action.  Ten  thousand  Russians  had  fallen 
in  these  three  days  of  glory  to  St.  Cyr. 

This  brave  marshal,  though  wounded,  was  compelled; 
on  account  of  dissensions  among  the  generals,  to  keep 
the  command  of  his  troops,  and  commence  his  retreat. 
Reversing  Napoleon's  mode  of  retreat  from  Moscow, 
he,  with  ten  thousand  men,  kept  nearly  fifty  thousand 
at  bay  ;  so  that  they  did  not  make  more  than  three 
marches  in  eight  days.  After  eleven  days  of  toil, 
and  combat,  and  suffering,  in  which  he,  though 
wounded,  had  exhibited  a  skill,  courage,  and  tenacity, 
seldom  surpassed,  he  at  length  effected  a  junction  with 
Victor,  who  had  marched  from  Smolensko  to  meet 
him. 

After  the  termination  of  that  disastrous  campaign, 
he  is  seen  next  year  at  Dresden,  struggling  to  uphold 
the  tottering  throne  of  Napoleon.  With  twenty 
thousand  men  he  was  operating  round  the  city,  and 
fearing  that  the  allies  would  make  a  demonstration 
upon  it,  wrote  to  that  effect  to  Napoleon,  who  was 
combating  Blucher  in  Silesia.  But  the  latter  did  not 


172  BATTLE     OF     DRESDEN. 

agree  with  him,  and  kept  pushing  his  project^  in  tti€ 
quarter  where  he  then  was,  when  the  astounding  intel- 
ligence was  brought  him  that  the  allied  forces  were 
inarching  on  Dresden.  St.  Cyr  saw  at  once  his  dan- 
ger ;  and  prepared,  as  well  as  his  means  permitted,  to 
meet  it.  But  after  some  fierce  lighting  with  Wittgen- 
stein's advanced  guard — his  old  foe  of  Polotsk,  in  Rus- 
sia— he  retired  within  the  redoubts  of  Dresden,  and 
patiently  waited  the  result. 

BATTLE   OF   DRESDEN. 

A  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  soldiers,  with  more 
than  five  hundred  pieces  of  cannon,  covered  the  heights 
that  overlooked  his  entrenchments.  It  was  the  latter 
part  of  August,  and  everything  was  smiling  in  summer 
vegetation,  when  this  mighty  host  pitched  their  tents 
on  the  green  hills  that  encircled  the  city. 

On  the  evening  of  their  approach,  St.  Cyr  wrote  to 
Napoleon  the  following  letter :  "Dresden,  23d.  Aug. 
1813 ;  ten  at  night.  At  five  this  afternoon  the  enemy 
approached  Dresden,  after  having  driven  in  our  cav- 
alry. We  expected  an  attack  this  evening ;  but  prob- 
ably' it  will  take  place  to-morrow.  Your  Majesty 
knows  better  than  I  do,  what  time  it  requires  for 
heavy  artillery  to  beat  down  enclosure  walls  and 
palisades."  The  next  night  at  midnight  he  des- 
patched another  letter  to  him,  announcing  an  immedi- 
ate attack,  and  closing  up  with,  "  We  are  determined 
to  do  all  in  our  power ;  but  I  can  answer  for  nothing 
more  with  such  young  soldiers."  Immediately  on 
the  reception  of  the  first  letter,  Napoleon  surrendered 
his  command  to  Macdonald,  and  turned  his  face 
towards  Dresden.  Murat  was  despatched  in  hot 
haete,  to  announce  his  arrival  and  re-assure  the  be- 


MARSHAL     ST.     CYli.  173 

sieged.  In  the  midst  of  his  guards,  which  had 
marched  nearly  thirty  miles  a  day  since  the  commence- 
ment of  the  war,  he  took  the  road  to  the  city. 

To  revive  his  sinking  troops,  he  ordered  twenty 
thousand  bottles  of  wine  to  be  distributed  among 
them,  but  not  three  thousand  could  be  procured.  He, 
however,  marched  all  next  day,  having  dispatched  a 
messenger  to  the  besieged  to  ascertain  the  exact 
amount  of  danger.  Said  Napoleon  to  the  messenger 
Gourgaud,  "  Set  out  immediately  for  Dresden,  ride  <U 
ha/rd  as  you  can,  and  be  there  this  evening — see  St. 
Oyr,  the  King  of  Naples,  and  the  King  of  Saxony — 
encourage  every  one.  Tell  them  I  can  be  in  Dresden 
to-morrow  with  forty  thousand  men,  'and  the  day  fol- 
lowing with  my  whole  army.  At  day -break  visit  the 
outposts  and  redoubts- — consult  the  commander  of 
Engineers  as  to  whether  they  can  hold  out.  Hui^ry 
back  to  me  to-morrow  at  Stolpen,  and  bring  a  full 
report  of  St.  Cyr's  and  Murafs  opinion  as  to  the  real 
state  of  things."  Away  dashed  Gourgaud  in  hot 
haste,  while  the  Emperor  hurried  on  his  exhausted 
army.  Gourgaud  did  not  wait  till  day-break  before 
he  returned.  He  found  every  thing  on  the  verge  of 
ruin — the  allied  army  was  slowly  enveloping  the  de- 
voted city,  and  when,  at  dark,  he  issued  forth  from 
the  gates,  the  whole  summer  heavens  were  glowing 
with  the  light  of  their  bivouac  fires,  while  a  burning 
village  near  by  threw  a  still  more  baleful  light  over 
the  scene.  Spurring  his  panting  steed  through  the 
gloom,  he  at  midnight  burst  in  a  fierce  gallop  into 
the  squares  of  the  Old  Guard,  and  was  immediately 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  anxious  Emperor 
The  report  confirmed  his  worst  fears.  At  daylight 

the  weary  soldiers  were  aroused  from  their  repose,  and 
10* 


174          APPEARANCE     OF     THE     ARMIES. 

though  they  had  marched  a  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  in  four  days,  pressed  cheerfully  forward;  foi 
already  the  distant  sound  of  heavy  cannonading  was 
borne  by  on  the  morning  breeze.  At  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing, Napoleon  and  the  advanced  guard,  reached  an 
elevation  that  overlooked  the  whole  plain  in  which 
the  city  lay  embosomed ;  and  lo,  what  a  sublime  yel 
terrific  sight  met  their  gaze.  The  whole  valley  was 
filled  with  marching  columns,  preparing  for  an  as- 
sault ;  while  the  beams  of  the  morning  sun  were  sent 
back  from  countless  helmets  and  bayonets  that 
moved  and  shook  in  their  light.  Here  and  there 
columns  of  smoke  told  where  the  batteries  were  firing, 
while  the  heavy  cannonading  rolled,  like  thunder 
over  the  hills.  There,  too  was  the  French  army, 
twenty  thousand  strong,  packed  behind  the  redoubts, 
yet  appearing  like  a  single  regiment  in  the  midst  of 
the  host  that  enveloped  them.  Courier  after  courier, 
riding  as  for  life,  kept  dashing  into  the  presence  of 
the  Emperor,  bidding  him  make  haste  if  he  would 
save  the  city.  A  few  hours  would  settle  its  fate. 
Napoleon,  leaving  his  guards  to  follow  on,  drove 
away  in  a  furious  gallop,  while  a  cloud  of  dust 
along  the  road,  alone  told  where  his  carriage  was 
whirled  onward.  As  he  approached  the  gates,  the 
Kussian  batteries  swept  the  road  with  such  a  deadly 
fire,  that  he  was  compelled  to  leave  his  carriage  and 
crawl  along  on  his  hands  and  knees  over  the  ground, 
while  the  cannon  balls  whistled  in  an  incessant  shower 
above  him. 

Suddenly  and  unannounced,  as  if  he  had  fallen 
from  the  clouds,  he  appeared  at  the  Royal  Palace, 
where  the  King  of  Saxony  was  deliberating  on  the 
terras  of  capitulation.  Waiting  for  no  rest,  he  took  s 


MARSHAL     ST.     CYB.  17.1 

single  page  so  as  not  to  attract  the  enemy's  fire,  and 
went  forth  to  visit  the  outer  works.  So  near  had  the 
enemy  approached,  that  the  youth  by  his  side  was 
struck  down  by  a  spent  musket  ball.  Having  finish- 
ed his  inspection,  and  settled  his  plans,  he  returned  to 
the  Palace,  and  hurried  off  couriers,  to  the  different 
portions  of  the  army,  that  were  advancing  by  forced 
marches  towards  the  city.  First,  the  indomitable 
guards  and  the  brave  cuirassiers,  eager  for  the  onset, 
came  pouring  in  furious  haste  over  the  bridge.  The 
over-joyed  inhabitants  stood  by  the  streets,  and  offered 
them  food  and  drink ;  but  though  weary,  hungry  and 
thirsty,  the  brave  fellows  refused  to  take  either,  and 
hurried  onward  towards  the  storm  that  was  ready  to 
burst  on  their  companions.  At  ten  o'clock,  the  troops 
commenced  entering  the  city — infantry,  cavalry  and 
artillery  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed — till 
there  appeared  to  be  no  end  to  the  rushing  thousands. 
Thus  without  cessation,  did  the  steady  columns  arrive 
all  day  long,  and  were  still  hurrying  in,  when  at  four 
o'clock,  the  attack  commenced.  The  batteries,  that 
covered  the  heights  around  the  city,  opened  their  ter- 
rible fire,  and  in  a  moment  Dresden  became  the  tar- 
get of  three  hundred  cannon,  all  trained  upon  her 
devoted  buildings.  Then  commenced  one  of  war'a 
wildest  scenes.  St.  Cyr  replied  with  his  artillery, 
and  thunder  answered  thunder,  as  if  the  hot  August 
afternoon,  was  ending  in  a  real  storm  of  heaven. 
Balls  fell  in  an  incessant  shower  in  the  city,  while 
the  blazing  bombs  traversing  the  sky,  hung  for  a  mo- 
ment like  messengers  of  death  over  the  streets,  and 
then  dropped  with  an  explosion,  that  shook  the 
ground  among  the  frightened  inhabitants.  Amid  the 
shrieks  of  tho  wounded,  and  the  stern  language  of 


176  THE    ATTACK. 

command,  was  heard  the  heavy  rumbling  of  the  ar» 
tillery  and  ammunition  wagons  through  the  streets, — 
and  in  the  intervals,  the  steady  tramp,  tramp  of  the 
marching  columns,  still  hastening  in  to  the  work  of 
death — while  over  all,  as  if  to  drown  all ;  like  succes 
eive  thunder  claps  where  the  lightning  falls  nearest, 
gpoke  the  fierce  batteries  that  were  exploding  on  each 
other.  But  the  confusion  and  death,  and  terror  that 
reigned  through  the  city,  as  the  burning  buildings 
shot  their  flames  heavenward,  were  not  yet  complete. 
The  inhabitants  had  fled  to  their  cellars,  to  escape 
the  balls  and  shells  that  came  crashing  every  mo- 
ment through  their  dwellings ;  and  amid  the  hurry 
and  bustle  of  the  arriving  armies,  and  their  hasty  tread 
along  the  streets,  and  the  roll  of  drums,  and  rattling  of 
armour  and  clangour  of  trumpets,  and  thunder  of  ar- 
tillery, the  signal  was  given  for  the  assault — three  ca/nr 
non  shots  from  the  heights  of  Raecknitz.  The  next 
moment,  six  massive  columns  with  fifty  cannon  at  their 
head,  began  to  move  down  the  slopes — pressing  straight 
for  the  city.  The  muffled  sound  of  their  heavy  meas- 
ured tread,  was  heard  within  the  walls,  as  in  dead 
silence  and  awful  majesty  they  moved  steadily  forward 
upon  the  batteries. 

It  was  a  sight  to  strike  terror  into  the  heart  of  the 
boldest,  but  St.  Cyr  marked  their  advance  with  the 
calmness  of  a  fearless  soul,  and  firmly  awaited  the 
onset  that  even  Napoleon  trembled  to  behold.  No 
sooner  did  they  come  within  the  range  of  artillery 
than  the  ominous  silence  was  broken  by  its  deafening 
roar.  In  a  moment,  the  heights  about  the  city  were 
in  a  blaze ;  the  fifty  cannon  at  the  head  of  those  columns 
belched  forth  fire  and  smoke ;  and  amid  the  charging 
infantry,  the  bursting  of  shells,  the  rolling  fire  of  mus 


MARSHAL     ST.     CTK.  177 

ketry,  and  the  explosion  of  hundreds  of  cannon,  St 
Cjr  received  the  shock.  For  two  hours  the  battk 
raged  with  sanguinary  ferocity.  The  plain  was  cov- 
ered with  dead — the  suburbs  were  overwhelmed  with 
assailants,  and  ready  to  yield  every  moment — the  ene- 
my's batteries  were  playing  within  fifteen  rods  of  tho 
ramparts — the  axes  of  the  pioneers  were  heard  on  the 
gates ;  and  shouts,  and  yells,  and  execrations  rose  over 
the  walls  of  the  city.  The  last  of  St.  Cyr's  reserve 
were  in  the  battle,  and  had  been  for  half  an  hour,  and 
Napoleon  began  to  tremble  for  his  army.  But  at  half 
past  six,  in  the  hottest  of  the  fight,  the  Young  Guard 
arrived,  shouting  as  they  came,  and  were  received  in 
return  with  shouts  by  the  army,  that  for  a  moment 
drowned  the  roar  of  battle.  Then  Napoleon's  brow 
cleared  up,  and  St.  Cyr,  for  the  first  time,  drew  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

The  gates  were  thrown  open,  and  the  impetuous 
Ney,  with  the  invincible  Guard,  poured  through  one 
like  a  resistless  torrent  on  the  foe,  followed  soon  after 
by  Murat,  with  his  headlong  cavalry.  Mortier  sallied 
forth  from  another;  and  the  Young  Guard,  though 
weary  and  travel-worn,  burst  with  loud  cheers  on  the 
chief  redoubt — which,  after  flowing  in  blood,  had  been 
wrested  from  the  French — and  swept  it  like  a  tor- 
nado. 

Those  six  massive  columns,  thinned  and  riddled 
through,  recoiled  before  this  fierce  onset,  and 
slowly  surged  back,  like  a  receding  tide ;  from  the 
walls.  In  the  meantime,  dark  and  heavy  clouds 
oegan  to  roll  up  the  scorching  heavens,  and  the  dis- 
tant roll  of  thunder  mingled  with  the  roar  of  artil- 
lery. Men  had  turned  this  hot  August  afternoon 
into  a  battle-storm,  and  now  the  elements  were  to 


178  THE    TWO     ARMIES     AT     NIOtfT. 

end  it  with  a  fight  of  their  own.  In  the  midst  ol 
the  deepening  gloom,  the  allies,  now  for  the  first  time 
aware  that  the  Emperor  was  in  the  city,  drew  off  their 
troops  for  the  night.  The  rain  came  down  as  if  the 
clonds  were  falling,  drenching  the  living  and  the 
dead  armies ;  yet  Napoleon,  heedless  of  the  storm,  and 
Knowing  what  great  results  rested  npon  the  next  day's 
action,  was  seen  hurrying  on  foot  through  the  streets 
to  the  t  ridge,  over  which  he  expected  the  corps  of 
Marmont  and  Victor,  to  arrive.  With  anxious  heart 
he  stood  and  listened,  till  the  heavy  tread  of  their  ad- 
vancing columns  through  the  darkness,  relieved  his 
suspense ;  and  then,  as  they  began  to  pour  over  the 
bridge,  he  hastened  back,  and  traversing  the  city, 
passed  out  at  the  other  side,  and  visited  the  entire 
lines  that  were  now  formed  without  the  walls.  The 
bivouac  fires  shed  a  lurid  light  over  the  field,  and  he 
came  at  every  step  upon  heaps  of  corpses,  while 
groans  and  lamentations  issued  from  the  gloom  in 
every  direction  ;  for  thousands  of  wounded,  uncovered 
and  unburied,  lay  exposed  to  the  storm,  dragging 
out  the  weary  night  in  pain.  Early  in  the  morning, 
Napoleon  was  on  horseback,  and  rode  out  to  the 
army.  Taking  his  place  beside  a  huge  fire  that  was 
blazing  and  crackling  in  the  centre  of  the  squares  of 
the  Old  Guard,  he  issued  his  orders  for  the  day.  Vic- 
tor was  on  the  right ;  the  resistless  Ney  on  the  left, 
over  the  Young  Guard,  while  St.  Cyr  and  Marmont 
were  in  the  centre,  which  Napoleon  commanded  in 
person. 

The  rain  still  fell  in  torrents,  and  the  thick  mist 
Bhrouded  the  field  as  if  to  shut  out  the  ghastly  specta- 
cle its  bosom  exhibited.  The  cannonading  soon  com- 
menced, but  with  little  effect,  as  the  mist  concealed 


MARSHAL     ST.     CYB.  170 

the  armies  from  each  other.  A  hundrei  and  sixty 
thousand  of  the  allies,  stretched  in  a  huge  semicircle 
along  the  heights,  while  Napoleon,  with  a  hundred 
and  thirty  thousand  in  the  plain  below,  was  waiting 
the,  favourable  moment  in  which  to  commence  the 
attack.  At  length  the  battle  opened  on  the  right, 
where  a  fierce  firing  was  heard  as  Yictor  pressed  firm- 
ly against  an  Austrian  battery.  Suddenly,  Napoleon 
heard  a  shock  like  a  falling  mountain.  While  Victor 
was  engaging  the  enemy  in  front,  Murat,  unperceived 
in  the  thick  mist,  had  stolen  around  to  the  rear,  and 
without  a  note  of  warning,  burst  with  twelve  thou- 
sand cavalry  on  the  enemy.  He  rode  straight  through 
their  broken  lines,  trampling  under  foot  the  dead  and 
dying.  Ney  was  equally  successful  on  the  left, 
and  as  the  mist  lifted,  it  showed  the  allied  win<jg 

'  O 

both  driven  back.  The  day  wore  away  in  blood — 
carts,  loaded  with  the  wounded,  moved  in  a  constant 
stream  into  the  city ;  but  the  French  vere  victorious 
at  all  points ;  and  when  night  again  closed  over  the 
scene,  the  allied  armies  had  decided  to  retreat. 

It  was  in  this  battle  Moreau  fell.  He  had  just 
returned  from  the  United  States,  at  the  urgent  solici- 
tation of  the  Emperor  Alexander,  to  take  up  arms 
against  his  country. 

This  was  his  first  battle,  and  Napoleon  killed  him. 
About  noon,  on  the  last  day  of  the  fight,  he  noticed 
a  group  of  persons  on  an  eminence,  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant. Supposing  they  were  watching  his  manoeuvres, 
he  called  a  Captain  of  Artillery,  who  commanded  a 
battery  of  eighteen  or  twenty  pieces,  and  pointing  to 
them  said ;  "  Throw  a  dozen  bullets  into  tfuxt  ^roup^ 
at  one  foe,  perhaps  there  a/re  some  little  ft&wrdls  in 
it.'1  He  obeyed,  and  it  was  immediately  seen  ^  be 


180  DEATH     OF     MO RE AD. 

agitated.  One  of  the  balls  had  struck  Moreau's  leg 
just  below  the  knee,  and  cutting  it  off,  passed  through 
his  horse,  carrying  away  the  other  leg  also.  The 
next  day,  a  peasant  picked  up  one  of  the  boots,  with 
the  leg  in,  which  the  surgeon  had  left  on  the  field, 
and  brought  it  to  the  King  of  Saxony,  saying  it  be- 
longed to  a  superior  officer.  The  boot,  on  exami- 
nation, was  found  to  be  neither  of  English  or  French 
manufacture,  and  they  were  still  in  doubt.  The  same 
day,  the  advance  guards,  while  in  pursuit  of  the 
enemy,  came  upon  a  little  spaniel  that  was  roaming 
over  the  field,  moaning  piteously  for  its  master. 
Around  its  neck  was  a  collar,  on  which  was  written, 
"  I  belong  to  General  Mbreau. " 

Both  legs  of  the  unfortunate  General  had  to  be  am- 
putated, wich  he  bore  with  stoical  firmness,  calmly 
smoking  a  cigar  during  the  painful  operation.  It  ia 
a  little  singular,  that  by  this  same  battery  and  same 
captain,  another  French  traitor  who  occupied  a  high 
rank  in  the  Russian  army,  General  St.  Priest,  was 
afterwards  killed  under  similar  circumstances.  Na- 
poleon gave  the  order  in  that  case  as  in  this. 

The  death  of  Moreau  cast  a  gloom  over  the  kingly 
group  that  assembled  to  hold  a  council  of  war,  and 
on  the  28th,  the  morning  after  the  battle,  the  allied 
army  was  in  full  retreat,  and  the  blood-stained  field 
was  left  in  the  hands  of  the  French. 

But  what  a  field  it  was  !  For  two  days  a  thousand 
cannon  had  swept  it,  and  three  hundred  thousand 
men  had  struggled  upon  it  in  the  midst  of  their  fire. 
The  grassy  plain  was  trodden  into  mire,  on  which 
nearly  twenty  thousand  men,  mangled,  torn,  and 
bleeding,  had  been  strewn.  Many  had  been  carried 
into  the  city  during  the  night ;  but  some  stark  an 


MABSHALST.CYR.  181 

stiff  in  death — some  reclining  on  their  elbows,  ]>ale 
and  ghastly,  and  calling  for  help ;  others  writhing  it 
mortal  agony  amid  heaps  of  the  slain,  still  covered 
the  ground.  Others  which  had  been  hastily  buried  the 
day  before,  lay  in  their  half  covered  graves — here  a 
leg  and  there  an  arm,  sticking  out  of  the  ground, 
while  to  crown  the  horror  of  the  scene,  multitudes  of 
women  were  seen  roaming  the  field,  not  to  bind  up 
the  wounded,  but  to  plunder  the  dead.  They  went 
from  heap  to  heap  of  the  slain,  turning  over  the 
mangled  bodies  and  stripping  them  of  their  clothing  ; 
and  loaded  down  with  their  booty,  gathered  it  in 
piles  beside  the  corpses.  Unmolested  in  their  work, 
they  made  the  shuddering  field  still  more  ghastly  by 
atrewing  it  with  half-naked  forms.  White  arms  and 
bodies  stretched  across  each  other,  or  dragged  away 
from  the  heaps  they  had  helped  to  swell,  made  the 
heart  of  even  Napoleon  turn  faint  as  he  rode  over  the 
scene  of  slaughter.  Oh,  what  a  comment  on  war,  and 
what  a  cure  for  ambition  and  the  love  of  glory  was 
this  field  !  The  terrified  and  horror-stricken  inhabi- 
tants came  out  from  the  cellars  of  their  burnt  dwell- 
ings and  strove  to  relieve  this  woe  by  burying  the  dead 
and  succouring  the  wounded. 

After  the  disasters  that  soon  befell  other  portions  ot 
the  French  army  under  Yandamme,  Macdonald,  and 
Oudinot ;  St.  Cyr  was  ordered  back  to  Dresden,  with 
thirty  thousand  men,  under  the  expectation  of  soon 
eTacuating  it  again  after  he  had  destroyed  the  fortifi 
cations  around  it :  but  Napoleon,  changing  his  plan, 
sent  him  word  to  keep  it  to  the  last  extremity.  The 
disastrous  battle  of  Leipsic  rendered  his  situation 
desperate,  for  it  shut  him  off  from  all  reinforcements. 
Previously  the  allies  had  placed  twenty  thousand  met 


1S2  DISTRESS     OF     THE    AKMY. 

before  the  city  to  observe  it.  Against  these,  St.  Cyr  ad 
vanced,  and  routed  them,  and  thus  opened  the  country 
about  to  the  foragers.  But  when  Leipsic  fell  the  allies 
again  directed  their  attention  to  the  place,  and  St.  Cyr 
saw  their  victorious  armies  once  more  hem  him  in. 
Insufficient  supplies  had  already  weakened  his  men, 
so  that  he  had  the  mere  shadow  of  an  army,  while 
the  multitudes  of  the  sick  and  wounded  added  to  the 
burdens  that  oppressed  him.  The  maimed  and 
wounded  which  he  had  been  ordered  to  send  by  boats 
to  Torgau,  could  not  be  got  off.  Only  three  thousand 
were  sent,  though  multitudes,  hearing  they  were  to 
leave  their  fetid  hospitals,  crawled  out  to  the  banks  of 
the  river,  and  when  they  found  all  the  boats  were  filled 
and  they  were  to  be  left  behind,  refused  to  return  to 
the  city  and  lay  down  in  rows  along  the  shore. 
Wasted  with  sickness  and  wounds,  these  ranks  of 
spectres  lay  all  night  in  the  cold  to  be  ready  for  tho 
next  boat  that  should  appear.  In  the  meantime  the 
famine  and  suffering  increased  in  the  city.  St.  Cyr 
could  not  hear  a  word  from  Napoleon,  and  was  left 
without  orders,  to  save  his  army  as  he  could.  But  the 
soldiers  were  depressed  and  spiritless — the  German 
auxiliaries  deserted  him,  and  the  ammunition  be- 
coming exhausted,  he  was  driven  to  desperation.  In 
this  hopeless  condition  he  resolved  to  sally  forth  and 
cut  his  way  through  the  fifty  thousand  that  environed 
him,  and  joining  the  garrison  at  Torgau  and  Witten- 
berg, fight  his  way  back  to  the  Rhine. 

Carrying  out  this  bold  determination,  he  sallied  forth 
with  his  fifteen  thousand  men.  Yain  and  last  effort  1 
His  weary,  half-famished  soldiers  staggered  back  from 
the  shock,  and  were  compelled  to  flee  into  the  city 
A.11  hope  was  gone.  The  bread-shops  were  closed 


MARSHAL     Si.     OY.it.  183 

and  the  mills  silent,  though  the  miserable  crowds 
pressed  around  them,  threatening  and  beseeching  by 
turns.  Famine  stalked  through  the  streets,  followed 
by  pestilence,  and  woe,  and  death.  The  meat  was 
exhausted,  and  the  starving  soldiers  fell  on  their 
horses,  and  devoured  them.  Thirty  were  slain  every 
day  ;  and  at  length,  around  the  putrid  carcasses  in  the 
streets,  poor  wretches  were  seen  quarreling  for  the 
loathaome  food, — even  the  tendons  were  chewed  to  as 
suage  the  pangs  of  hunger.  Two  hundred  bodies 
were  carried  every  day  from  the  hospitals  to  the 
church-yard,  where  they  accumulated  so  fast  that 
none  were  found  to  bury  them  ;  and  they  were  "  laid 
naked  in  ghastly  rows  along  the  place  of  sepulture." 
The  dead  tumbled  from  the  overloaded  carts — and  over 
the  corpses  that  thus  strewed  the  streets,  the  wheels 
passed,  crushing  the  bones  with  a  sound  that  made 
even  the  drivers  shudder.  Some  were  hurried  away 
before  they  were  dead,  and  shrieked  out  as  they  fell 
on  the  hard  pavement.  Multitudes  were  thrown  into 
the  river,  some  of  whom,  revived  by  the  cold  water, 
were  seen  flinging  about  their  arms  and  legs  in  a  vain 
struggle  for  life.  Silent  terror,  and  faintness,  and 
despair,  filled  every  heart.  Amid  this  accumulation 
of  woe,  St.  Cyr  moved  with  his  wonted  calmness, 
though  the  paleness  on  his  cheek  told  how  this  suf- 
fering around  him  wrung  his  heart.  He  endured  and 
suffered  all  as  became  his  brave  spirit ;  and  then  find- 
ing there  was  no  hope,  (for  he  no  longer  had  men 
that  could  fight,)  he  consented  to  capitulate.  He  of- 
fered to  surrender  the  city  on  condition  he  should  be 
allowed  to  return  with  his  soldiers  to  France,  not  to 
fight  again  till  regularly  exchanged.  The  terms  were 
agreed  to,  and  he  inarched  out  of  the  city  ;  but  so 


i8i  CAPITULATION      OF     THE      CITY. 

wan  and  worn  were  the  soldiers,  that  lie  himself 
said,  that  probably  not  more  than  one-fourth  would 
ever  reach  the  Rhine.  He  was  spared  the  trial  of 
conducting  this  ghost  of  an  army  back  to  France. 
The  allies,  with  the  faithlessness  of  barbarians,  had  no 
sooner  got  him  in  their  power,  than  they  marched  him 
and  his  army  into  Bohemia  as  prisoners  of  war.  Had 
Napoleon  perjured  himself  in  this  manner,  the  world 
would  have  rung  with  the  villanous  deed.  The  brave 
St.  Cyr  firmly  protested  against  this  violation  of  the  laws 
of  civilized  nations,  and  hurled  scorn  and  contempt  on 
the  sovereigns  who  thus  stamped  themselves  with  in- 
famy in  the  sight  of  the  world,  threatening  them  with 
future  vengeance  for  the  deed.  It  was  all  in  vain,  for 
he  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  victors  who  were  moved 
neither  by  sentiments  of  honour  nor  sympathy  for  the 
brave. 

The  course  of  St.  Cyr,  on  the  abdication  of  Napoleon, 
and  his  return  and  final  overthrow,  has  been  already 
spoken  of.  He  died  in  March,  1830,  and  sleeps  in  the 
cemetery  of  Pere-la-Chaise.  A  noble  monument  crowns 
his  grave,  and  he  rests  in  peace  amid  the  heroes  by 
whose  side  he  fought. 

St.  Cyr  was  a  humane  man,  and  abstained  from 
those  excesses  which  stained  the  reputation  of  so  many 
of  the  military  leaders  of  his  time.  He  was  possessed  of 
great  talents,  and  deserved  all  the  honours  he  received 
His  "Journal  des  Operations  de  1'Armee  de  Catalogue 
en  1808-9,  sur  le  commandment  du  General  Gouvion 
St.  Oyr,"  is  an  able  work,  though  tinged  with  acrimony 
against  Napoleon  which  is  as  unjust  as  his  conduct 
was  foolish. 


VL 


MAKSHAL  LANNES. 

Principle  on  which  Napoleon  chose  his  officers — Passage  of  Lodi — Battle 
of  Montebello — Battle  of  Marengo — Siege  of  Saragossa — Buttle  oi 
Aspem,  and  Death  of  Lannes. 

BONAPARTE  always  chose  hife  Marshals  on  the  eclec- 
tic principle.  Wherever  he  found  one  great  quality, 
lie  laid  it  under  contribution.  The  great  error,  even 
with  sensible  men  is,  they  bring  every  one  to  a  single 
standard  and  judge  him  by  a  single  rule.  Forgetting 
the  variety  everywhere  visible  in  nature,  and  that  the 
beauty  and  harmony  of  the  whole  depend  on  the  dif- 
ference of  each  part,  they  wish  to  find  in  every  man 
that  proportion  and  balance  of  all  his  qualities  which 
would  make  him  perfect.  Disappointed  in  this,  they 
seek  the  nearest  approximation  to  it ;  and  hence  pre- 
fer an  ordinary  intellect,  if  well  balanced,  to  a  great 
one,  if  great  only  in  some  particular  direction.  For- 
getting that  such  a  character  is  unbalanced,  only  be- 
cause it  has  at  least  one  striking  quality,  they  reject 
its  aid,  or  content  themselves  with  more  prudent,  me- 
diocre minds.  This  may  do  for  a  merchant,  but  not 
for  a  government  or  military  leader.  The  collection 
of  twenty  thousand  common  minds  furnishes  no  ad- 
ditional strength,  while  the  union  of  one-twentieth  oi 
that  number,  each  of  which  possesses  force  in  only 
one  direction,  gives  immense  power.  It  is  true;,  or* 


186  HIS     EARJ.Y     LIFE.. 

well  balanced  intellect  is  needed  to  control  these  con 
flicting  energies,  and  force  them  to  act  in  harmony  on 
one  great  plan,  or  they  will  only  waste  themselves  on 
each  other.  Bonaparte  was  such  a  controlling  mind, 
and  he  cared  not  how  one-sided  the  spirits  were  he 
gathered  about  him,  if  they  only  had  force :  he  was 
after  p&wer,  acting  in  whatever  direction.  A  combi- 
nation of  men,  each  of  whom  co*uld  do  one  thing  well, 
must  do  all  things  well.  Acting  on  this  principle,  he 
never  allowed  a  man  of  any  striking  quality  to  escape 
him.  Whether  it  was  the  cool  and  intrepid  Ney,  or 
the  chivalric  Murat — the  rock-fast  Macdonald,  or  the 
tempestuous  Junot — the  bold  and  careful  Soult,  or  the 
impetuous  Lannes,  it  mattered  not.  He  needed  them 
all,  and  he  thus  concentrated  around  him  the  greatest 
elements  of  strength  that  man  can  wield.  It  is  fear- 
ful to  see  the  spirits  Napoleon  moulded  into  his  plans, 
and  the  combined  energy  he  let  loose  on  the  armiea 
of  Europe.  Knowing  the  moral  power  of  great  and 
striking  qualities,  he  would  have  no  leader  without 
them.  In  this  he  showed  his  consummate  knowledge 

O 

of  human  nature,  especially  of  Frenchmen.  Enthu- 
siasm, and  the  reliance  on  one  they  never  trusted  in 
vain  in  battle,  will  carry  an  army  farther  than  the 
severest  discipline.  A  company  of  conscripts  wculd 
follow  Ney  as  far  as  a  body  of  veterans  a  common 
leader.  So  would  a  column  charge  with  Lannes  at 
their  head,  when  with  a  less  daring  and  resolute  man 
they  would  break  and  fly.  Moral  power  is  as  great  as 
physical,  even  where  every  thing  depends  upon  hard 
blows.  Mind  and  will  give  to  the  body  all  its  force 
—so  do  they  also  to  an  army.  The  truth  of  this  was 
witnessed  and  proved  in  our  struggle  with  the  parent 
country. 


MARSHAL     LANNE8.  181 

Joan  Lannes  was  born  in  Lectoure,  a  small  town 
iii  Normandy,  in  April,  1769.  His  father  \\as  a 
humble  mechanic,  and  designing  his  son  for  a  simi- 
lar occupation,  he  bound  him  out,  at  an  early  age,  as 
an  apprentice.  In  ordinary  times  young  Lannes 
would  probably  have  remained  in  the  humble  station 
in  which  his  birth  had  placed  him,  and  become  in 
time,  perhaps,  a  passable  shoemaker  or  carpenter. 
But  the  call  which  the  Revolution  sent  forth  for  the 
military  talent  of  France,  could  not  be  resisted,  and 
young  Lannes  ran  away  from  his  master,  and  enlisted 
as  a  common  soldier  in  the  army.  Soon  after,  he 
was  sent  with  the  army  that  operated  on  the  Pyre- 
oean  frontier.  Here  he  soon  exhibited  the  two 
striking  traits  of  his  character — traits  which  emi- 
nently fitted  him  for  the  scenes  in  which  his  life  was 
to  pass — viz.,  reckless  daring  and  unconquerable  reso- 
lution. These  qualities  shining  out  in  the  heat  of 
battle  and  in  the  most  desperate  straits,  soon  won  for 
him  the  regard  of  his  officers,  and  he  was  made  chief 
of  brigade.  In  this  rank  he  fought  Tinder  Lefebvre, 
but  soon  after,  for  some  cause  known  only  to  the  Con- 
tention, which  yet  scarcely  knew  the  cause  of  any- 
thing it  did,  he  was  deprived  of  his  commission,  and 
returned  to  Paris.  Amid  the  conflicting  elements 
that  surrounded  the  young  soldier  in  the  French 
capital,  he  soon  found  work  to  do.  An  ardent  repub- 
lican, his  bold  politics  and  bolder  manner  could  not 
long  escape  the  notice  of  government,  and  he  was 
sent  to  the  army  in  Italy.  As  chief  of  a  battalion  at 
Milesimo,  he  conducted  himself  so  gallantly,  and 
fought  with  such  desperate  impetuosity,  that  he 
arrested  Napoleon's  attention  in  the  hottest  of  the 
engagement,  and  he  made  him  Colonel  on  the  spot 


188  BRIDGE     OF     LOD1. 

Crossing  the  Po,  soon  after,  under  the  enemy's  fire, 
he  was  the  first  to  reach  the  opposite  bank ;  and 
finally  crowned  his  brilliant  exploits  at  Lodi,  where 
he  was  made  general  of  brigade,  and  soon  after  oi 
division. 

After  the  successive  victories  of  Montenotte,  Mile- 
simo  and  Dego,  Napoleon  resolved  to  push  on  to 
Milan.  In  his  progress  he  was  forced  to  cross  the 
Adda,  at  Lodi.  Twelve  thousand  Austrian  infantry, 
and  four  thousand  cavalry,  with  a  battery  of  thirty 
cannon,  stood  at  the  farther  extremity  of  the  bridge 
he  was  to  cross,  to  dispute  its  passage.  On  the  first 
of  May,  he  arrived  at  Lodi  with  his  army.  The 
Austrian  cannon  and  musketry  began  immediately  to 
play  on  the  bridge,  so  that  it  seemed  impossible  to 
reconnoitre  the  ground.  But  Napoleon,  sheltering  his 
men  behind  the  houses  of  the  town,  sallied  out  into 
the  midst  of  the  deadly  storm,  and  immediately  ar- 
ranged his  plan.  Forming  a  column  of  seven  thou- 
sand picked  men,  he  placed  himself  at  their  head  and 
rushed  on  the  bridge ;  but  the  cannon  balls  and  grape- 
shot  and  the  bullets  of  the  infantry  swept  every  inch 
of  the  narrow  defile,  and  rattled  like  an  incessant  shower 
of  hail-stones  against  its  stony  sides.  So  incessant  and 
furious  was  the  discharge,  that  a  cloud  of  smoke  lay 
like  a  dense  fog  round  it — yet  into  its  very  bosom 
moved  the  intrepid  column.  The  sudden  volley  that 
emote  their  breasts  made  those  bold  men  reel  and  stag- 
ger back.  For  a  moment  the  column  wavered  and  bal- 
anced on  the  pass — for  a  thousand  had  already  fallen, 
and  it  was  marching  straight  into  a  volcano  of  fire ; 
but  the  next  moment,  seeing  themselves  supported  by 
the  tiralleurs  that  were  fording  the  stream  beneath 
the  arches,  the  soldiers  shouted,  "  Vive  la 


MARSHAL     LANNES.. 

lique!"  and,  receiving  the  storm  of  cannon-balls  and 
grape-shot  on  their  unshrinking  bosoms,  rushed  for 
ward  and  bayoneted  the  artillery-men  at  their  guns. 
Lannes  was  the  first  man  across,  and  Bonaparte  the 
second.  Spurring  his  excited  steed  on  the  Austrian 
ranks,  he  snatched  a  banner  from  the  enemy,  and  just 
as  he  was  about  to  seize  another,  his  horse  sunk  under 
him.  In  a  moment  the  swords  of  half  a  dozen  cuiras- 
siers glittered  above  him,  and  his  destruction  seemed 
inevitable.  But  extricating  himself  with  incredible 
exertion  from  his  dying  steed,  he  arose  amid  the  sabre 
strokes  that  fell  like  lightning  around  him ;  and  leaping 
on  the  horse  of  an  Austrian  officer  behind  him,  slew 
him  with  a  single  stroke,  and  hurling  him,  from  his 
saddle,  seated  himself  in  his  place,  and  '•-.hen,  wheeling  on 
the  enemy,  charged  the  cuirassiers  like  a  thunderbolt, 
and  fought  his  way  through  them  single-handed,  back 
to  his  followers.  It  is  said  that  Napoleon  never  forgot 
the  bearing  of  Lannes  on  that  occasion.  The  fury  of 
a  demon  seemed  to  possess  him,  and  the  strength  of  ten 
men  appeared  to  be  concentrated  in  his  single  arm. 
No  wonder  Bonaparte  promoted  him  on  the  spot.  His 
own  daring  was  reckless  enough,  but  Lannes'  was  still 
more  so,  and  it  seems  almost  a  miracle  that  he  escaped 
death. 

Napoleon,  whom  his  soldiers  here,  for  the  first  time, 
gave  the  title  of  "  the  little  corporal,"  in  honour  of  his 
courage,  was,  ever  after,  accustomed  to  speak  of  thia 
sanguinary  struggle  as  "the  terrible  passage  of  the 
bridge  of  Lodi."  It  was  by  such  acts  of  heroic  valour 
that  Lannes  acquired  the  sobriquet  in  the  army 
of  "Orlando"  and  "Ajax."  A  few  months  after,  he 
exhibited  the  same  fearlessness  of  character  and  head- 
long courage,  at  the  passage  of  the  bridge  of  Arcolo, 
11* 


190  HIS     CHARACTER. 

During  all  this  bloody  struggle,  Lanncs  nevei  lefl 
Bonaparte ;  but  advancing  when  he  advanced,  charg- 
ing like  fire  by  his  side,  and  covering  his  person  with 
his  own  body  from  the  bullets  that  mowed  everything 
down  around  them — he  received  three  wounds,  which 
well  nigh  relieved  him  of  his  life.  He  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  wound  when  he  entered  the  battle,  but  it 
did  not  prevent  him  from  doing  deeds  of  incredible  dar- 
ing. Nothing  shows  the  personal  exposure  and  personal 
daring  of  the  generals,  who,  one  after  another,  rose  to 
^e  marshals  and  dukes,  more  than  the  frequency  with 
tfhich  they  were  wounded  in  their  earlier  career. 
Here,  after  three  pitched  battles,  Murat,  Ney,  Macdon- 
aid,  Berthier,  and  Lannes,  were  all  wounded. 

One  cannot  follow  him  through  all  his  after  career, 
'but  must  select  out  those  particulars  in  which  he  exhib- 
ited his  most  striking  qualities.  Lannes  was  frank,  even 
to  bluntness,  and  so  impatient  of  restraint  that  he  some- 
times became  insubordinate,  but  was  always  brave,  and 
firm  as  a  rock  in  the  hour  of  battle.  Indeed,  his  very 
impatience  of  control,  and  frequent  outbursts  of 
passion,  when  crossed  in  his  purpose,  made  him 
rise  in  excitement  and  increase  in  daring,  the 
greater  the  obstacles  that  opposed  him.  Always 
heading  his  columns  in  the  desperate  onset,  and 
exposing  his  person  where  death  reaped  down  the 
brave  fastest,  he  so  fastened  himself  in  the  affections 
of  hid  soldiers,  that  they  would  follow  him  into 
any  extremity.  By  the  openness  of  his  character  and 
brilliancy  of  his  exploits,  he  fixed  himself  deeply  also 
in  the  heart  of  Napoleon,  who  always  wished  him  by 
his  side,  and  leaned  on  him  in  battle  as  he  d.d  on 
Ney.  But  the  impetuosity  of  his  character  demanded 
constant  action,  and  he  grew  irritable  and  unmanly 


MARSHAL     LANNE8.  19] 

when  compelled  to  suffer  without  resistance.  He 
could  encounter  any  obstacle  against  which  he  was 
allowed  to  dash,  and  would  enter  any  danger  where 
he  could  swing  the  arm  of  defiance  ;  but  he  had  none 
of  the  martyr-spirit  in  him.  Pinion  him,  and  he 
would  become  frantic  under  suffering.  He  needed 
Belf-control  and  the  discipline  of  calm  and  collected 
thought.  Trained  in  the  camp,  and  educated  in  the 
roar  of  battle,  he  was  all  action  and  excitement.  Yet 
his  excitement  made  him  steady.  In  the  midst  of 
foiling  thousands  and  the  shock  of  armies,  his  mind 
worked  with  singular  clearness  and  power.  It  needed 
the  roar  of  cannon  and  the  tumult  of  a  battle-field,  to 
balance  the  inward  excitement  which  drove  him  on. 
Hence,  in  his  earlier  career,  he  could  not  be  trusted 
alone  with  an  army,  and  Bonaparte  knew  it.  But 
he  learned  the  duties  of  a  great  leader  fast,  and  Na- 
poleon says  himself  of  him,  "  I  found  him  a  dwarf, 
I  lost  him  a  giant." 

In  the  campaign  of  Egypt,  he  appears  the  same 
great  General,  and  fought  at  Aboukir  and  Acre  as 
he  had  done  before  at  Lodi  and  Arcola.  At  Acre,  he 
nearly  lost  his  life,  and  was  carried  from  the  field  of 
battle  severely  wounded.  But  in  the  march  from 
Alexandria  to  Cairo,  across  the  desert,  he  exhibited 
that  impatience  and  irritability  before  mentioned. 
In  the  midst  of  a  boundless  plain  of  sand,  without 
water,  parched  by  the  sun,  and  surrounded  by  troops 
of  Bedouins ;  the  army  gave  way  to  despair,  and 
Murat  and  Lannes  among  the  rest.  "Wherever  there 
was  a  battery  to  be  stormed,  or  an  army  of  eighty 
thousand  men  to  be  annihilated,  none  spurred  more 
joyously  into  the  battle  than  they.  But  to  bear  up 
against  the  solitude  and  silence  of  the  desert — against 


192  HIS     BEliAVIOUJl     IN     EGYPT. 

liuuger  and  thirst,  and  a  burning  sun — foes  that  could 
not  be  routed  or  even  assailed,  required  more  self- 
control  than  either  possessed.  They  became  dispirited 
and  desperate,  and  dashed  their  plumed  hats  to  the 
ground  and  trampled  them  in  the  sand  ;  and  it  is  said, 
even  conspired  to  return  to  Alexandria  with  the  army. 
Ney  and  Hacdonald  never  would  have  acted  thus. 

Selected  by  Bonaparte,  as  one  of  the  eight  officers 
to  return  with  him  to  France,  he  played  an  important 
part  in  that  conspiracy  by  which  the  government  of 
France  was  overthrown,  and  the  commander-in-chief 
of  the  army  became  the  First  Consul  of  the  Empire. 

Bonaparte,  having  resolved  to  overthrow  the  imbe- 
cile Directory,  and  take  the  power  into  his  own  hands, 
assembled  around  him  the  most  determined  spirits  the 
army  could  furnish.  On  the  morning  that  he  mounted 
his  steed  and  rode  towards  the  Tuileries — resolved  to 
stake  everything  on  one  bold  move,  and  pass  the 
power  of  France  into  his  own  hands — seven  men,  as 
yet  only  partially  known  to  fame,  were  assembled  in 
the  palace,  sworn  to  his  interests,  and  bound  to  his 
destiny.  Those  seven  names  afterward  made  Europe 
tremble.  They  were  Moreau,  Murat,  Marmont,  Hac- 
donald,  Berthier,  Lofebvre,  and  Lannes.  Only  one 
was  wanting — the  intrepid  Ney.  Napoleon  felt  the 
loss  of  him,  and  when  about  to  present  himself  before 
the  bar  of  the  Ancients,  said,  "  I  would  give,  at  this 
moment,  two  hundred  millions  to  have  Ney  by  my  side" 

Being  employed  a  while  in  France,  Lannes  after- 
wards joined  the  army  destined  to  Italy,  and  shared 
largely  in  the  glory  of  that  brilliant  campaign.  He 
accompanied  Napoleon  over  the  St.  Bernard ;  or  ra- 
ther, he  went  over  five  days  before  him.  The  van 
guard,  composed  of  six  regiments,  was  placed  undei 


MARGHAL     LANNES.  193 

his  command,  and  he  set  out  at  midnight  for  the  top 
of  the  pass.  While  Bonaparte  was  still  at  Martigny^ 
Lannes  was  rushing  dywn  into  Italy,  and  had  already 
opened  his  musketry  on  the  Austrians.  When  the 
whole  army  was  stopped  by  the  fort  of  Bard,  he  was 
still  sent  on  with  the  advance  guard  by  another  path  t' 
take  possession  of  the  valley  of  Ivrea. 

BATTLE   OF    MONTEBELLO. 

But  one  of  the  most  remarkable  actions  of  his  life 
illustrating  best  the  iron  will  and  unsurpassed  bravery 
of  the  man,  was  his  battle  with  the  Austrians  at  Moil- 
tebello,  which  gave  him  the  title  of  Duke.  Still  lead- 
ing the  vanguard  he  had  carried  over  the  St.  Bernard, 
he  came  upon  the  Po,  and  upon  nearly  eighteen  thou- 
sand Austrians,  admirably  posted,  with  their  right 
wing  resting  on  the  Apennines,  and  their  left  reaching 
off  into  the  plain ;  while  the  whole  field  was  swept  by 
batteries  that  lined  the  hill-sides.  When  he  beheld  this 
strong  array,  and  discovered  their  position,  he  saw 
at  once  that  he  must  retreat,  or  fight  with  no  hope, 
except  to  maintain  his  ground  till  Yictor,  five  or  six 
miles  in  the  rear,  could  come  up.  Independent  of  the 
superior  position  of  the  Austrians,  they  had  between 
seventeen  and  eighteen  thousand,  while  Lannes  could 
muster  only  about  eight  thousand  men,  or  less  than 
half  the  number  of  his  enemy.  But  his  rear  rested  on 
the  Po,  and  fearing  the  effect  of  a  retreat  in  such  a 
disastrous  position,  he  immediately  resolved  to  hazard 
an  attack.  The  cheerfulness  with  which  his  soldiers 
advanced  to  this  unequal  combat  shows  the  wonder 
ful  power  he  wielded  over  them.  They  were  not  only 
ready  to  march  on  the  enemy,  but  advanced  to  the 
charge  with  shouts  of  enthusiasm.  There  can  scarce- 


JOi  BATTLE     OF     MONTEBELLO. 

ly  be  a  more  striking  instance  of  valour  than  tho  be 
haviour  of  Lannes  on  this  occasion.  There  was  nc 
concealment  of  the  danger — no  chance  of  sudden  sur 
prise — and  no  waiting  the  effect  of  some  other  move- 
ment on  which  his  own  would  depend.  It  was  to  be 
downright  hard  fighting,  and  he  knew  it ;  fighting,  to- 3, 
against  hopeless  odds  for  the  first  few  hours.  But  all 
the  heroic  in  him  was  aroused,  aud  his  chivalric  bear- 
ing before  his  army  inspired  them  with  the  highest 
ardour.  Especially  after  the  battle  was  fairly  set,  and 
it  was  necessary  to  make  one  man  equal  to  three,  he 
seemed  endowed  with  the  spirit  of  ten  men.  He  was 
everywhere  present,  now  heading  a  column  in  a  charge 
— now  rallying  a  shattered  division — and  now  fight- 
ing desperately,  hand  to  hand,  with  the  enemy.  With- 
out waiting  the  attack  of  the  Austrians,  he  formed  his 
troops  en  echelon,  and  advanced  to  the  charge.  Two 
battalions  marched  straight  on  the  murderous  artil- 
lery, which,  stationed  in  the  road,  swept  it  as  the 
cannon  did  the  bridge  of  Lodi.  The  third  battalion 
endeavored  to  carry  the  heights,  while  Watrin,  with 
the  remainder,  marched  full  on  the  centre.  The  battle 
at  once  became  terrific.  Before  the  furious  onset  of 
the  French,  the  Austrians.  were  driven  back,  and 
seemod  about  to  break  and  fly,  when  a  reserve  of  the 
Imperialists  came  up,  and  six  fresh  regiments  were 
hurled  on  their  exhausted  ranks.  The  heights  of  Re- 
vetta  had  been  carried,  but  the  fresh  onset  was  too 
heavy  for  the  victorious  troops,  and  they  were  driven 
in  confusion  down  the  hill.  The  centre  staggered 
back  before  the  superior  numbers  and  the  heavy  fire 
of  the  artillery;  but  still  Lannes  rallied  them  to  an- 
other and  another  effort.  Under  one  of  the  most  do- 
structiye  fires  to  which  a  division  was  perhaps  ever 


MARSHAL     LANNES.  101 

exposed,  he  supported  his  men  by  almost  superhuman 
efforts.  Standing  himself  where  the  shot  ploughed  up 
the  ground  in  furrows  about  him,  he  not  only  coolly 
surveyed  the  danger,  but  by  his  commands  and  pre- 
sence held  his  men  for  a  long  time  in  the  very  face  oi 
death.  But  it  was  impossible  for  any  column,  unless 
all  composed  of  such  men  as  Lannes,  long  to  with- 
stand such  a  lire  ;  and  they  were  on  the  point  of  turn- 
ing and  fleeing,  when  one  of  the  divisions  of  Victor's 
corps  arrived  on  the  field  and  rushed  with  a  shout  into 
the  combat.  This  restored  for  a  time  the  fight.  The 
Austrians  were  again  repulsed,  when,  bringing  up  a 
fresh  reserve,  they  forced  the  French  a  second  time  to 
retire.  ISTow  advancing  and  now  retreating,  the  two 
armies  wavered  to  and  fro,  like  mist  when  it  first  meeta 
the  rising  blast.  As  division  after  division  of  Victor's 
corps  came  up,  the  French  rallied ;  till  at  length,  when 
they  had  all  arrived,  and  the  two  armies  stood  twelve  to 
eithteen  thousand — the  whole  French  force  and  the 
whole  Austrian  reserve  in  the  field — the  combat  became 
dreadful.  Though  pressed  by  such  superior  numbers, 
and  wasted  by  such  commanding  and  hotly-worked 
batteries,  Lannes  refused  to  yield  one  inch  of  the  san- 
guinary field.  It  is  said  that  his  appearance  in  this 
battle  was  absolutely  terrific.  Besmeared  with  powder 
and  blood  and  smoke,  he  rode  from  division  to  division, 
inspiring  courage  and  daring  in  the  exhausted  ranks — 
rallying  again  and  again  the  wasted  columns  to  the 
charge,  and  holding  them  by  his  personal  heroism  and 
reckless  exposure  of  his  life,  hour  after  hour,  to  the 
murderous  fire.  General  Kivaud,  battling  for  the 
heights,  and  the  brave  Watrin,  charging  like  fire  on 
the  centre — cheered  at  every  repulse  by  the  calm, 
stern  voice  of  Lannes — fought  as  Frenchmen  had  uo( 


196  TIIE     FIELD     OF     BATTLE. 

fought  before  during  the  war.  The  moral  powai 
which  one  man  may  w^eld,  was  never  more  visible 
than  on  this  occasion.  Lannes  stood  the  rock  of  thai 
battle-field,  around  which  his  men  clung  with  a  te 
uacity  that  nothing  could  shake.  Had  he  fallen,  ir 
five  minutes  that  battle  would  have  been  a  rout.  On 
his  life  hung  victory,  and  yet  it  seemed  not  worth  a 
hope,  in  the  steady  fire  through  which  he  constantly 
galloped.  From  eleven  in  the  mornng  till  eight  at 
night,  for  nine  long  hours,  did  he  press  with  an  army 
first  of  six,  then  of  twelve  thousand,  on  one  of  eigh 
teen  thousand,  without  intermission  or  relief.  It  was 
one  succession  of  onsets  and  repulses,  till  darkness 
began  to  gather  over  the  scene.  One  fourth  of  his 
army  had  sunk  on  the  field  where  they  fought.  At 
length  Rivaud,  having  carried  the  heights,  came  down 
like  an  avalanche  on  the  centre,  while  Watrin  led  his 
intrepid  column  for  the  last  time  on  the  artillery. 
Both  were  carried,  and  the  Austrians  were  compelled 
to  retreat.  Bonaparte  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the 
battle  won.*  He  rode  up  to  Lannes,  surrounded  by 
the  remnants  of  his  guard,  and  found  him  soiled  with 
blood — his  sword  dripping  in  his  exhausted  hand — 
his  face  blackened  with  powder  and  smoke — and  his 
uniform  looking  more  as  if  it  had  been  dragged  under 
the  wheels  of  the  artillery  during  the  day,  than  worn 
by  a  living  man.  But  a  smile  of  exultation  passed 
over  his  features,  as  he  saw  his  commander  gazing  with 
pride  and  affection  upon  him ;  while  the  soldiers, 
weary  and  exhausted  as  they  were,  could  not  restrain 
their  joy  at  the  victory  they  had  won. 

*  Alteon,  with  his  accustomed  correctness,  sayK,  "  At  length  the  arrival  of  Nnpoleou. 
with  th«  division  of  Gardanne,  decidjd  the  victory.'  This  reminds  us  of  h"?  ncoounl 
*f  the  taking  of  the  President  by  the  Endyiuiun. 


MARSHAL     LAKNKB.  1) 

Such  was  the  terrible  battle  of  Montebello  ;  and 
Lannes,  in  speaking  of  it  afterwards,  said  in  referring 
to  the  deadly  fire  of  the  artillery,  before  which  he 
held  his  men  with  such  unflinching  firmness,  "  I  could 
hear  the  bones  crash  in  my  division,  like  hail-stones 
against  the  windows"*  A  more  terrific  description 
of  the  effect  of  cannon-shot  on  a  close  "column  of  men, 
could  not  be  given.  I  have  known  of  single-handed 
sea-fights  of  frigate  with  frigate,  where  the  firing  was 
so  close  and  hot  that  the  combatants  could  hear  the 
splitting  of  the  timbers  in  the  enemy's  ship  at  every 
broadside,  but  never  before  heard  of  a  battle  where 
the  bones  could  be  heard  breaking  in  the  human 
body,  as  cannon  balls  smote  through  them.  Yet  no 
one  would  ever  have  thought  of  that  expression,  had 
it  not  been  suggested  to  him  by  what  he  actually 
heard.  At  all  events,  Lannes  never  fought  a  more  des- 
perate battle  than  this,  and  as  evidence  that  Napoleon 
took  the  same  view  of  it,  ne  gave  him  the  title  of 
Duke  of  Montebello,  which  his  family  bear  with  just 
pride  to  this  day. 

BATTLE  OF  MABENGO. 

Bonaparte  did  not  forget  the  great  qualities  of  a 
commander  he  exhibited  on  this  occasion,  and  ever 
afterwards  placed  him  in  the  post  of  danger.  In  the 
battle  of  Marengo,  which  took  place  a  few  days  after, 
he  performed  prodigies  of  valour.  "Wandering  over 
this  renowned  battle-field,  Lannes  was  recalled  to 
my  mind  at  almost  every  step.  The  river  Bormida 
crosses  the  plain  between  the  little  hamlet  of  Marengo, 

*  As  Bonaparte  was  riding  over  the  field  of  battle  afterwards,  with  Lannes,  and  saw 
the  heaps  of  the  dead  on  every  side,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  saying,  "  Au  diable, 
this  has  been  rather  a  serious  aftair."  "Yes,"  replied  Lanc«H,  "I  could  hearth* 
bauds  crash  in  my  division,  like  hail-stones  against  windows." 


198  BATTLE     OF     MARENGO. 

of  some  half  a  dozen  houses,  and  Alessandria,  Avhex 
crosses  the  plain  between  the  little  hamlet  of  Marengo, 
the  Austrians  lay  encamped.  Coming  out  from  the 
city  in  the  morning,  and  crossing  the  Bormida  under 
a  severe  fire  of  the  French,  they  deployed  into  tho 
open  field,  and  marched  straight  on  Victor,  posted 
just  before  Marengo.  He  had  stationed  himself  be 
hind  a  deep  and  muddy  stream — resembling,  indeed, 
in  its  banks  and  channel,  a  narrow  canal  rather  than 
a  rivulet — and  sustained  the  shock  of  the  enemy  with 
veteran  firmness,  for  two  hours ;  but  overpowered  by 
superior  numbers  he  was  fast  losing  his  strength, 
when  Lannes  came  up  and  restored  the  combat. 
There,  divided  only  by  this  narrow  ditch — across 
which  the  front  ranks  could  almost  touch  bayonets — 
did  the  tiralleurs  stand  for  two  hours,  and  fire  into 
each  other's  bosoms,  while  the  cannon,  brought  to 
within  pistol  shot,  opened  horrible  gaps  in  the  dense 
ranks  at  every  discharge,  which  were  immediately 
filled  with  fresh  victims.  It  did  not  seem  possible,  as 
I  stood  beside  this  narrow  stream,  over  which  I  could 
almost  leap,  that  two  armies  had  stood  and  fired  into 
each  other's  faces,  hour  after  hour,  across  it. 

But  I  do  not  design  to  go  into  the  particulars  of 
this  battle.  Austrian  numbers,  and  the  two  hundred 
Austrian  cannon,  were  too  much  for  Yictor  and  Lan- 
nes both  together.  The  little  stream  of  Fontanone 
was  carried,  and  these  two  heroes  were  compelled  to 
fall  back  on  the  second  line.  This,  after  a  desperate 
resistance,  was  also  forced  back.  Victor's  corps,  ex- 
hausted by  four  hours'  fighting,  finally  gave  way, 
and  broke  and  fled  towards  Lannes'  division,  which 
alone  was  left  to  stay  the  reversed  tide  of  battle. 
Seeing  that  all  now  rested  on  him,  he  put  forth  one 
of  those  prodigious  efforts,  for  which  he  was  remark 


MARSHAL     LANNES.  199 

aole  in  the   hour  of  extreme  danger.      Forming   bis 
men  into  squares,  he   began  slowly  to   retreat.     Th« 
Austrian    army    moved   en   masse   upon    him,   while 
eighty  pieces  of  cannon   sent  an  incessant  shower  of 
round  and  grape  slot  through  his  dense  ranks,  mow- 
ing them  down  at  every  discharge  like   grass.      Still 
he  held  the  brave  squares  firm.     Against  the  charge 
of  cavalry,  the  onset  of  infantry,  and  the  thunder  ot 
eighty    cannon,    he    opposed    the    same    adamantine 
front.      "When   pressed  too   hard    by  the  infantry,  he 
would    stop    and    charge    bayonet — then    commence 
again  his  slow  and   heroic   retreat.      Thus  he  fought 
for    two    hours — retreating    only    two    miles    in    the 
whole  time — leaving   entire   ranks  of  men  on  almost 
every  foot  of  ground  he  traversed.     But  between  the 
steady  onset  of  the  Hungarian  infantry,  which  halted 
every  ten    rods    and    poured  a  deadly  volley  on   his 
steady  squares,  and  the  headlong   charge  of  the  Im- 
perial   cavalry,  sweeping   in   a   fierce   gallop  around 
them,  and   the  awful   havoc  of  those  eighty  cannon, 
incessantly    playing    on    the    retreating    masses — the 
trial  became  too  great  for  human  endurance.     Square 
after  square   broke   and  fled,  and  the  field  was  cov- 
ered with   fugitives   crying,    "  Tout  est  perdu,  scvuve 
qui  peut"      Still   Lannes,  unconquered  to   the    last, 
kept  those   immediately   about  him   unshaken    amid 
the  storm  and  devastation.      Scorning   to  fly,  unable 
to  stand,  he  allowed  his  men  to  melt  away  before  the 
destructive  fire  of  the  enemy ;  while  the  blowing  up 
of  his  own  caissons,  which  he  could  not  bring  away, 
added  tenfold  terror  to  the    thunder   of    cannon   that 
shook  the  field.     He,  and  the  Consular  Guard  also  in 
square,  moved  like  "living  citadels"  over  the  plain, 
.u>fi  furnished  a  wall  of  iron,  behind  which  Bonaparte 


200  A  K  RIVAL     OF     DESAIX. 

was  yet  to  rally  his  scattered  army,  and  turn  a  defeat 
into  a  victory. 

From  early  in  the  morning  till  three  o'clock  in  thi 
afternoon,  the  battle  had  raged  with  ceaseless  fury 
wiien  the  head  of  Desaix's  column,  with  banners 
flying  and  trumpets  sounding,  was  seen  advancing 
with  rapid  step  over  the  plain.  --  Immediately  at  the 
commencement  of  the  battle,  Bonaparte  despatched 
his  aids-de-camp  with  urgent  haste  for  Desaix.  But 
as  the  report  of  the  first  cannon  fired  on  Maren- 
go,  rose  dull  and  heavy  on  the  morning  air,  the  hero 
of  Egypt  stood  and  listened  ;  and  as  he  heard  the 
distant  and  heavy  cannonading,  like  the  roll  of  far-off 
thunder,  come  booming  over  the  plain,  he  suspected 
the  enemy  he  was  after  at  Novi,  was  on  the  plains 
of  Marengo,  and  despatched  Savary  in  haste  to  the 
former  place  to  see.  Finding  his  suspicions  true,  he 
immediately  put  his  army  in  motion,  and  was  miles 
on  his  way,  when  the  dust  of  fierce  riders  in  the  dis- 
tance told  him  he  was  wanted.  Sending  forward  his 
aids-de-camp  on  the  fleetest  horses  to  announce  his 
approach,  he  urged  his  excited  army  to  the  top  of  its 
speed.  At  length,  as  he  approached  the  field,  and  saw 
the  French  army  in  a  broken  mass,  rolling  back,  he 
could  restrain  his  impatience  no  longer,  and  dashing 
away  from  the  head  of  his  column,  spurred  his  steed 
•ver  the  plain,  and  burst  in  a  fierce  gallop  into  the 
resence  of  Napoleon.  A  short  council  of  the  generals 
was  immediately  held,  when  most  advised  a  retreat. 
"What  think  you  of  it?"  said  Napoleon  to  Desaix 
Pulling  out  his  watch,  he  replied,  "The  battle  is  lost, 
bat  it  is  only  three  o'clock;  there  is  time  to  gain  an- 
other." Delighted  with  an  anewer  corresponding  so 
well  with  his  own  feelingi,  he  ordered  him  to  advance, 


MARSHAL     LANNE8.  201 

and  with  his  6,000  men  hold  the  whole  Austria* 
force  in  check,  while  he  rallied  the  scattered  army  be- 
hind him.  Hiding  among  them,  he  exclaimed,  "  Sol- 
diers, you  have  retreated  far  enough ;  you  know  it 
is  always  my  custom  to  sleep  on  the  field  of  battle." 
The  charge  was  immediately  b  3at,  and  the  trumpets 
sounded  along  the  lines.  A  masked  battery  of  twelve 
cannon  opened  on  the  advancing  column  of  the  Aus- 
trians,  and  before  they  could  recover  their  surprise, 
Desaix  was  upon  them  in  a  desperate  charge.  "  Go," 
said  he  to  his  aid-de-camp,  "tell  the  First  Consul  I 
am  charging,  and  must  be  supported  by  the  cavalry ,'; 
A  volley  of  musketry  was  poured  in  his  advancing 
column,  and  Desaix  fell  pierced  through  the  heart  by 
a  bullet.  His  fall,  instead  of  disheartening  his  men, 
inspired  them  with  redoubled  fury,  and  they  rushed 
on  to  avenge  his  death.  Napoleon,  spurring  by  where 
the  hero  lay  in  death,  exclaimed,  "  It  is  not  permitted 
me  to  weep  now."  No,  every  thought  and  feeling 
was  needed  to  wring  victory  from  that  defeat.  The 
battle  again  raged  with  its  wonted  fury.  But  the 
tide  was  turned  by  a  sudden  charge  of  Kellerman  at 
the  head  of  his  cavalry,  which  cutting  a  column  of 
two  thousand  men  in  two,  made  fearful  havoc  on  the 
right  and  left.  Soon  the  whole  Austrian  army  were 
in  full  retreat,  and  being  without  a  commanding  offi- 
cer, broke  and  fled  in  wild  confusion  over  the  plain. 
"  To  the  bridge !  to  the  bridge !"  rose  in  terrified 
shouts,  as  the  turbulent  mass  rolled  back  towards  the 
Bormida.  Their  own  cavalry,  also  in  full  retreat, 
came  thundering  through  the  broken  ranks ;  and 
trampling  down  the  fugitives,  added  to  the  destruc- 
tion that  aheady  desolated  the  field.  All  were  hur- 
rying to  the  bridge,  which  was  soon  choked  by  the 


202  THE    VICTORY. 

crowds  that  sought  a  passage ;  and  horses,  and  ridcm 
and  artillery,  and  infantry,  were  rolled  together  intc 
the  Borrnida,  that  grew  purple  with  the  slain.  Melias, 
the  Austrian  general,  who  at  three  o'clock,  supposing 
the  battle  won,  had  retired  to  his  tent,  now  rallied  the 
remnants  of  his  few  hours  before  victorious,  but  now 
overthrown  army,  on  the  further  shores  of  the  river. 
Twelve  thousand  had  disappeared  from  his  ranks  since 
the  morning  sun  shone  upon  them,  flushed  with  hope 
and  confidant  of  victory.  The  combat  had  lasted 
for  twelve  hours,  and  now  the  sun  went  down  on  the 
field  of  blood.  Over  the  heaps  of  the  slain,  and  across 
the  trampled  field,  Savary,  the  aid-de-camp  and 
friend  of  Desaix,  was  seen  wandering  in  search  of 
the  fallen  chief.  He  soon  discovered  him  by  his  long 
and  flowing  hair,  (he  had  already  been  stripped  naked 
by  those  after  the  spoils,)  and  carefully  covering  his 
body  with  the  mantle  of  a  hussar,  had  him  brought 
to  the  head-quarters  of  the  army.  Desaix  saved  Bona- 
parte from  a  ruinous  defeat  at  Marengo,  and  saved  him, 
too,  by  not  waiting  for  orders,  but  moving  immediately 
towards  where  the  cannonading  told  him  the  fate  of 
the  army  and  Italy  was  sealing.  Had  Grouchy  acted 
thus,  or  had  Desaix  been  in  his  place  at  Waterloo,  the 
fate  of  that  battle  and  the  world  would  have  been 
different. 

Lannes  wrought  wonders  on  this  day,  and  was  so 
Iccted  by  Napoleon,  in  consideration  of  his  service, 
to  present  to  government  the  colours  taken  from  the 
enemy.  This  calls  to  mind  a  scene  which  took  place 
in  Paris  just  before  Bonaparte  set  out  on  this  expedi- 
tion. The  news  of  Washington's  death  had  just  been 
received,  and  Bonaparte  thus  announced  it  to  his  aray : 
tt  Washington  is  dead !  That  great  man  fough/ 


MARSHAL     LANNES.  208 

against  tyranny;  he  consummated  the  independence 
of  his  country.  His  memory  will  be  ever  dear  to  the 
French  people,  as  to  all  freemen  of  both  worlds,  and 
most  of  all  to  French  soldiers,  who,  like  him  and  the 
eoldiers  of  America,  are  fighting  for  equality  and  free- 
dom." Ten  days'  mourning  were  appointed,  and  a 
solemn  ceremony  performed  in  the  Church  of  the  In- 
valides.  Under  the  solemn  dome  Bonaparte  assem- 
bled all  the  authorities  of  France,  and  the  officers  of 
the  army,  and  there,  in  their  presence,  Lannes  pre- 
sented to  the  Government  ninety -six  colours,  taken  in 
Egypt.  Berthier,  then  Minister  of  War,  sitting  be- 
tween two  soldiers,  both  a  hundred  years  old,  shaded 
by  a  thousand  standards,  the  fruits  of  Bonaparte's 
victories  ;  received  them  from  the  hand  of  Lannes,  who 
pronounced  a  warlike  speech,  as  he  presented  them. 
The  young  Republic  of  France  went  into  mourning 
for  the  Father  of  the  American  Republic,  and  this 
was  the  funeral  ceremony. 

Soon  after  this,  Lannes  was  sent  as  an  ambassador 
to  Portugal,  and  feeling  too  much  the  power  Bona- 
parte and  France  wielded,  treated  with  that  independ- 
ent nation,  as  if  its  king  and  ministers  had  been  sub- 
ordinates in  the  army.  He  was  better  at  the  head  of 
a  column  than  in  the  cabinet,  and  got  no  honour  to 
himself  from  his  office  as  ambassador.  This  very 
bluntness  and  coarseness,  which  rendered  him  fit  only 
for  the  camp  and  the  battle-field,  and  which  indeed 
was  the  cause  of  his  receiving  this  appointment,  were 
sufficient  reasons  for  his  not  having  it.  Being  com- 
mander of  the  Consular  Guard,  he  administered  its 
chest  and  disbursed  the  money  intrusted  to  him  with 
such  prodigality  and  recklessness,  that  there  was  a 
general  complaint.  It  was  done  with  the  full  knows 


204  QUARREL     "WITH     NAPOLEON. 

ledge  and  authority  of  Napoleon,  yet  he  reproved  him 
for  it  when  the  excitement  became  too  great  to  b* 
any  longer  disregarded.  This  exasperated  Lannes  so 
much  that  he  indulged  in  the  most  abrupt  language 
towards  the  First  Consul,  and  resolved  to  replace  the 
money  that  had  been  expended.  But  from  all  his  vic- 
tories, he  had  little  left,  and  Augereau  was  compelled 
to  loan  him  the  sum  he  needed,  saying  :  "  There,  take 
this  money;  go  to  that  ungrateful  fellow  for  whom 
we  have  spilt  our  blood  ;  give  him  back  what  is  due 
to  the  chest,  and  let  neither  of  us  be  any  longer  un- 
der obligations  to  him."  But  Napoleon  could  not  afford 
to  lose  two  of  his  best  generals,  and  thinking  it  was  bet- 
ter to  keep  such  turbulent  spirits  apart,  sent  Augereau 
to  the  army  and  Lannes  as  ambassador  to  Portugal. 

Recalled  to  the  army,  he  fought  at  Austerlitz,  Jena, 
Eylau,  and  Friedland  with  his  accustomed  valour. 
In  the  campaign  of  Eylau,  at  the  battle  of  Pultusk, 
he  advanced  with  his  corps  of  35,000  men  in  the  midst 
of  driving  snow-squalls,  and  knee-deep  in  mud,  up  to 
the  very  muzzles  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  cannon. 

In  1808,  he  was  sent  to  join  the  army  in  Spain.  In 
crossing  the  mountains  near  Mondragon  he  came  very 
near  losing  his  life.  His  horse  stumbled  and  in  the 
effort  to  rally  fell  back  on  him,  crushing  his  body 
dreadfully  by  his  weight.  He  who  had  stormed  ovci 
so  n?any  battle-fields,  and  been  hurled  again  and 
again  from  his  seat  amid  trampling  squadrons  as  his 
horse  sunk  under  him,  and  yet  escaped  death,  was 
here,  on  a  quiet  march,  well  nigh  deprived  of  his  life. 

The  surgeon, — who  had  seen  a  similar  operation 
performed  by  the  Indians  in  Newfoundland, — ordered 
a  sheep  to  be  skinned  immediately,  and  the  warm  pel' 
lowed  around  the  wounded  Marshal's  body.  His  ex 


MARSHAL     L  A  JST  N  E  8  .  20£ 

tromities  in  the  meantime  were  wrapped  in  hot  flan- 
nels, and  warm  drinks  were  given  him.  In  ten  min- 
utes lie  was  asleep,  and  shortly  after  broke  into  a  pro- 
fuse perspiration,  when  the  dangerous  symptoms 
passed  away.  Five  days  after  he  led  his  columns 
into  battle  at  Tuedla,  and  completely  routed  an  army 
of  forty  thousand  men. 

SIEGE  OF  SARAGOSSA. 

The  next  year  he  was  appointed  to  take  charge 
of  the  siege  at  Saragossa,  which  had  been  suc- 
cessively under  the  command  of  Moncey  and  Junot. 
The  camp  was  tilled  with  murmurs  and  com- 
plaints. For  nearly  a  month  they  had  environed 
the  town  in  vain.  Assault  after  assault  had  been 
made  ;  and  from  the  2d  of  January,  when  Junot 
took  the  command,  till  the  arrival  of  Lannes  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  month,  every  night  had  been  dis- 
tinguished by  some  bloody  fights,  and  yet  the  city  re- 
mained unconquered.  Lannes  paid  no  heed  to  the 
complaints  and  murmurs  around  him,  but  immedi- 
ately, by  the  promptitude  and  energy  of  his  actions, 
infused  courage  into  the  hearts  of  the  desponding 
soldiery.  The  decision  he  was  always  wont  to  carry 
into  battle  was  soon  visible  in  the  siege.  The  sol- 
diers poured  to  the  assault  with  firmer  purpose,  and 
fought  with  more  resolute  courage.  The  apathy 
which  had  settled  down  on  the  army  was  dispelled. 
New  life  was  given  to  every  movement  ;  and  on  the 
27th,  amid  the  tolling  of  the  tower  bell,  warning  the 
people  to  the  defence,  a  grand  assault  was  made,  and 
after  a  most  sanguinary  conflict  the  walls  of  the  town 
were  carried  ;  and  the  Frerch  soldiers  fortified  them- 
Helves  in  the  convent  of  St.  Joseph. 
12 


206  BIEOE     OF     8ARAOOS8A. 

Unyielding  to  the  last,  the  brave  Sanigossang 
fought  on;  and,  amid  the  pealing  of  the  tocsin,  rush- 
ed up  to  the  very  mouths  of  the  cannon,  and  perished 
by  hundreds  and  thousands  in  the  streets  of  the  city. 
Every  house  was  a  fortress,  and  around  its  walU 
were  separate  battle-fields,  where  deeds  of  frantic 
valour  were  done.  Day  after  day  did  these  single- 
handed  fights  continue,  while  famine  and  pestilence 
walked  the  city  at  noon-day,  and  slew  faster  than  the 
swords  of  the  enemy.  The  dead  lay  piled  up  in 
every  street,  and  on  the  thick  heaps  of  the  slain  thp 
living  mounted  and  fought  with  the  energy  of  des 
pair  for  their  homes  and  their  liberty.  In  the  midst 
of  this  incessant  firing  by  night  and  by  day,  and 
hand-to-hand  fights  on  the  bodies  of  the  slain,  ever 
and  anon  a  mine  would  explode,  blowing  the  living 
and  dead,  friend  and  foe,  together  in  the  air.  An 
awful  silence  would  succeed  for  a  moment,  and  then 
over  the  groans  of  the  dying  would  ring  again  the 
rallying  cry  of  the  brave  inhabitants.  The  streets 
ran  torrents  of  blood,  and  the  stench  of  putrified 
bodies  loaded  the  air.  Thus  for  three  weeks  did  the 
fight  and  butchery  go  on  within  the  city  walls,  till 
the  soldiers  grew  dispirited,  and  ready  to  give  up  the 
hope  of  spoils  if  they  could  escape  the  ruin  that  en- 
compassed them.  Yet  theirs  was  a  comfortable  lot 
to  that  of  the  besieged.  Shut  up  in  the  cellars 
with  the  dead — pinched  with  famine,  while  the 
pestilence  rioted  without  mercy  and  without  resist- 
ance—they heard  around  them  the  incessant  bursting 
of  bombs,  and  thunder  of  artillery,  and  explosions  ol 
mines,  and  crash  of  falling  houses,  till  the  city  shook, 
night  and  day.  as  if  within  the  grasp  of  an  earth- 
quake. Thousands  fell  daily,  and  the  town  was  a 
mass  of  ruins.  Yet  unconquered,  and  apparently  un- 


MARSHAL     LANNE8.  2Q*t 

conquerable,  the  inhabitants  straggled  on.  Cut  ol 
the  dens  they  had  made  for  themselves  amid  the 
ruins,  and  from  the  cellars  where  there  were  more 
dead  than  living,  men  would  crawl  to  fight,  whc 
looked  more  like  spectres  than  warriors.  Women 
would  man  the  guns,  and,  musket  in  hand,  advance 
fearlessly  to  the  charge;  and  hundreds  thus  fell, 
fighting  for  their  homes  and  their  firesides.  Amid 
this  scene  of  devastation — against  this  prolonged  and 
almost  hopeless  struggle  of  weeks — against  the  pesti- 
lence that  had  appeared  in  his  own  army,  and  was 
mowing  down  his  own  troops — and  above  all,  against 
the  increased  murmurs  and  now  open  clamors  of  the 
soldiers,  declaring  that  the  seige  must  be  abandoned 
till  reinforcements  could  come  up — Lannes  remained 
unshaken  and  untiring.  The  incessant  roar  and  crash 
around  him — the  fetid  air — the  exhausting  toil,  the 
carnage  and  the  pestilence,  could  not  change  his  iron 
will.  He  had  decreed  that  Saragossa,  which  had 
heretofore  baffled  every  attempt  to  take  it,  should 
fall.  At  length,  by  a  vigorous  effort,  he  took  the 
convent  of  St.  Lazan,  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  and 
planted  his  artillery  there,  which  soon  levelled  the  city 
Around  it  with  the  ground.  To  finish  this  work 
of  destruction  by  one  grand  blow,  he  caused  six 
mines  to  be  run  under  the  main  street  of  the  city, 
*aeh  of  which  was  charged  with  three  thousand 
pounds  of  powder.  But  before  the  time  appointed  for 
rtieir  explosion  arrived,  the  town  capitulated.  The 
historians  of  this  seige  describe  the  appearance  of  the 
city  and  its  inhabitants  after  the  surrender  as  incon- 
ceivably horrible.  With  only  a  single  wall  between 
them  and  the  enemy's  trenches,  they  had  endured  a 
siege  of  nearly  two  months  by  40,000  men,  and  con 


APPEARANCE     OF     THE     BE8IEGEE. 

tinned  to  resist  after  famine  avid  pestilence  began  to 
slay  faster  than  the  enemy.  Thirty  thousand  cannon 
balls  and  sixty  thousand  bombs  had  fallen  in  the  city, 
and  fifty-four  thousand  of  the  inhabitants  had  per- 
ished. Six  thousand  only  had  fallen  in  combat, 
while  forty-eight  thousand  had  been  the  prey  of  the 
pestilence.  After  the  town  had  capitulated,  but 
twelve  thousa.id  were  found  able  to  bear  arms,  and 
they  looked  more  like  spectres  issuing  from  the  tombs 
than  living  warriors. 

Saragossa  was  taken ;  but  what  a  capture !  As 
Lannes  rode  through  the  streets  at  the  head  ol 
his  victorious  army,  he  looked  only  on  a  heap 
of  ruins,  while  six  thousand  bodies  still  lay  un- 
buried  in  his  path.  Sixteen  thousand  lay  sick, 
while  on  the  living,  famine  had  written  more  dreadful 
characters  than  death  had  traced  on  the  fallen.  In- 
fants lay  on  the  breasts  of  their  dead  mothers,  striving 
in  vain  to  draw  life  from  the  bosoms  that  never  would 
throb  again.  Attenuated  forms,  with  haggard  faces 
and  sunken  eyes  and  cheeks,  wandered  around  among 
the  dead  to  search  for  their  friends — corpses  bloated 
with  famine  lay  stretched  across  the  threshold  of 
their  dwellings,  and  strong-limbed  men  went  stagger- 
ing over  the  pavements,  weak  from  want  of  food,  or 
Struck  with  the  pestilence.  Woe  was  in  every  street. 
and  the  silence  in  the  dwellings  was  more  eloquent 
than  the  loudest  cries  and  groans.  Death  and 
famine,  and  the  pestilence,  had  been  there  in  every 
variety  of  form  and  suffering.  But  the  divine  form 
of  Liberty  had  been  there  too,  walking  amid  those 
heaps  of  corpses  and  ruins  of  homes,  shedding 
her  light  through  the  suDtorranean  apartments  of  the 
wretched,  and  with  her  cheering  voice  animating  the 
thrice-conquered,  vet  still  unconquered,  to  another 


MARSHAL     LANNES.  2v)9 

effort,  and  blessing  the  dying,  as  they  prayed  for  their 
beloved  city. 

But  she  was  at  last  compelled  to  take  her  departure^ 
and  the  bravest  city  of  modern  Europe  sunk  in  bon- 
dage. Still  her  example  lives,  and  shall  live  to  the 
ond  of  time,  nerving  the  patriot  to  strike  and  suffei 
for  his  home  and  freedom,  and  teaching  man  every- 
where how  to  die  in  defending  the  right.  A  wreath 
of  glory  surrounds  the  brow  of  Saragossa,  fadeless 
as  the  memory  of  her  brave  defenders.  Before  their 
achievements — the  moral  grandeur  of  their  firm  strug- 
gle, and  the  depth  and  intensity  of  their  sufferings — 
the  bravery  and  perseverance  of  the  French  and 
Lannes  sink  into  forgetfulness.  Yet,  it  was  no  ordi- 
nary task,  the  latter  had  given  him,  and  it  was  by 
no  ordinary  means  that  he  executed  it.  It  required  all 
the  iron  in  his  nature  to  overcome  the  obstacles  that 
encompassed  him  on  every  side. 

The  renown  which  belongs  to  him  from  the  manner 
in  which  he  conducted  this  siege  to  its  issue,  has  been 
somewhat  dimmed  by  the  accusations  English  his- 
torians have  brought  against  him.  He  is  charged 
with  having,  three  days  after  the  siege,  dragged  the 
tutor  and  friend  of  Palafox  from  his  bedside,  where 
he  was  relieving  his  wants  and  administering  to  him 
the  consolations  of  religion,  and  bayoneting  him  and 
another  innocent  chaplain  on  the  banks  of  the  Ebro. 
He  is  charged,  also,  with  levying  a  contribution  oi 
50,000  pairs  of  shoes  and  8,000  pairs  of  boots,  and 
medicines,  &c.,  necessary  for  a  nospital,  on  the  beg 
gared  population.  He  is  accused  of  rifling  a  church 
of  jewels  to  the  amount  of  4,687,000  francs,  and  ap- 
propriating them  all  to  himself;  and  worst  of  all,  oi 

having  ordered  monks  to  be  enveloped  in  sacks  and 
12* 


210  ACCUSATIONS     AGAINST     HIM. 

thrown  into  the  river,  so  that  when  their  bodies  were 
thrown  ashore  in  the  morning,  they  would  strike  ter- 
ror into  others.  He  is  also  accused  of  violating  the 
terras  of  capitulation,  by  sending  the  sick  Palafox 
the  commander-m-chief,  a  close  prisoner  to  France^ 
when  he  had  promised  to  let  him  retire  wherever  ho 
chose.  These  are  Mr.  Alison's  allegations;  but  as 
Madame  d'Abrantes  is  the  only  authority  he  gives, 
they  are  all  to  be  doubted,  at  least  in  the  way  they 
are  stated,  while  some  of  them  carry  their  falsehood 
in  their  very  inconsistency ;  and  one  hardly  knows 
which  to  wonder  at  most,  the  short-sighted  pique  of 
Madame  Junot,  (alias  d'Abrantes,)  which  could  origi- 
nate them,  or  the  credulity  or  national  prejudice  of  Mr. 
Alison,  which  could  endorse  them. 

Junot  had  been  unsuccessful  in  conducting  the 
siege,  and  had  been  superseded  in  the  command  by 
Lannes,  who  had  won  the  admiration  of  Europe  by 
his  success.  That  Junot's  wife  should  feel  this,  was 
natural ;  and  that  her  envy  should  cause  her  to  believe 
any  story  that  might  meet  her  ear,  tending  to  dis- 
parage her  husband's  rival,  was  woman-like.  Be- 
sides, Junot  received  lef»s  of  the  spoils  than  he  would 
have  done,  had  he  been  commander-in-chief.  This  also 
warped  the  fair  historian's  judgment — especially  the 
loss  of  the  jewels  of  our  Lady  of  the  Pillar,  which 
she  declares  Lanues  appropriated  to  himself.  All  this 
was  natural  in  her,  but  how  Mr.  Alison  could  sup 
pose  any  one  would  believe  that  Laimes  wreaked  his 
entire  vengeance  against  the  city  of  Saragossa  and 
its  brave  inhabitants,  by  spearing  two  harmless 
priests  on  the  banks  of  the  Ebro,  is  passing  strange. 
He  must  find  some  other  reason  for  the  act  before 
any  one  will  believe  it.  But  the  accusation  that  lie 


MAKSHAL     LANNES.  21  "t 

drowned  a  few  monks  to  frighten  the  rest,  is  etiL 
more  laughable.  One  would  think  that  Lannes  con- 
sidered himself  in  danger  from  monkish  conspiracieSj 
to  resort  to  this  desperate  method  of  inspiring  terror. 
If  this  story  was  to  be  believed  at  all,  one  would  in- 
cline to  think  that  he  did  it  for  mere  amusement,  to 
while  away  the  tedious  hours,  in  a  deserted,  ruined, 
famine-struck,  and  pestilence-struck  city.  To  inspire  a 
sepulchre  and  hospital  with  terror,  by  drowning  a  few 
monks,  was  certainly  a  very  original  idea  of  his. 

In  the  storming  of  Ratisbon,  Lannes  exhibited  one 
of  those  impulsive  deeds  which  characterized  him. 
Seeing  a  house  leaning  against  the  ramparts,  he  im- 
mediately ordered  the  artillery  against  it,  which  soon 
broke  down  the  walls,  and  left  them  a  sort  of  step- 
ping-stones to  the  tops  of  the  walls  of  the  city.  But 
such  a  destructive  fire  was  kept  up  by  the  Austrians  on 
the  space  between  the  French  and  it,  that  they  could 
not  be  induced  to  cross  it.  At  length  Lannes  seized  a 
scaling-ladder,  and  rushing  into  a^d  through  the  tem- 
pest of  balls  that  swept  every  foot  of  the  ground,  plant- 
ed it  firmly  against  the  ruined  house,  and  summoned 
his  men  to  follow.  Rushing  through  the  fire,  they 
rallied  around  him,  scaled  the  walls,  and  poured  into 
the  city,  and  opened  the  gates  to  the  army. 

But  now  we  come  to  the  close  of  Lannes'  career.  He 
had  passed  through  three  hundred  combats,  and  proved 
himself  a  hero  in  fifty-three  pitched  battles.  Some- 
times the  storm  swept  over  him,  leaving  him  unscath- 
ed ;  sometimes,  desperately  wounded,  he  was  borne 
from  the  field  of  his  fame,  but  always  rallied  again  to 
lead  his  host  to  victory.  But  his  last  battle-field 
was  at  hand,  and  one  of  the  strongest  pillars  of  Na- 
pale>n's  throne  was  to  fall  amid  clouds  and  darkness. 


212  BATTLE     OF     A8PEKN. 


BATTLE  OF  A8PERN. 

In  the  summer  of  1809,  after  Vienna  had  fallen  into 
his  hands,  Napoleon  determined  to  pass  the  Danube 
and  give  the  Archduke  Charles  battle,  on  the  farther 
shore.  The  Danube,  near  Vienna,  flows  in  a  wide 
stream,  embracing  many  islands  in  its  slow  and  ma- 
jestic movement  over  the  plain.  Bonaparte  resolved 
to  pass  it  at  two  points  at  the  same  time,  at  Nussdorfj 
about  a  mile  above  Vienna ;  and  against  the  isl- 
and of  Lobau,  farther  down  the  river.  Lannes 
took  charge  of  the  upper  pass,  and  Massena  of 
the  lower — the  two  heroes  of  the  coming  battle 
of  Aspern.  Lannes,  failing  in  his  attempt,  the 
whole  army  was  concentrated  at  Lobau.  On  the 
evening  of  the  19th  of  May,  Bonaparte  surprised  the 
Austrians  on  the  island,  and  taking  possession  of  it 
and  the  other  islands  around  it,  had  nothing  to  do 
but  throw  bridges  from  Lobau  to  the  northern  bank 
of  the  Danube,  in  order  to  march  his  army  over  to  the 
extended  plains  of  Marchfield,  that  stretched  away 
from  the  bank  to  the  heights  of  Bisomberg,  where 
lay  the  Archduke  with  a  hundred  thousand  men. 
Through  unwearied  efforts,  Bonaparte  was  able  to 
assemble  on  the  farther  shore,  on  the  morning  of  the 
21st,  forty  thousand  soldiers.  The  Archduke  saw, 
from  the  height  he  occupied,  every  movement  of  tlio 
French  army  ;  which  seemed  by  its  rashness  and  folly, 
to  be  rushing  into  the  very  jaws  of  destruction. 

It  was  a  cloudless  summer  morning,  and  as  the  glo- 
rious sun  came  flashing  over  the  hill  tops,  a  forest  ol 
glittering  bayonets  sent  back  its  beams.  The  grass  and 
the  flowers  looked  up  smilingly  to  the  blue  heavens, 
unconscious  of  the  carnage  that  was  to  end  the  day. 


MAB8UAL     LANNES.  213 

Just  as  the  sun  had  reached  its  meridian,  the  com- 
mand to  advance  was  heard  along  the  heights,  an- 
swered by  shouts  that  shook  the  earth,  and  the  roll 
of  drums  and  thousands  oi  trumpets,  and  wild  cho 
nises  of  the  soldiers.  Wh.le  Bonaparte  was  still 
struggling  to  get  his  army  over  the  bridge,  and  Lan- 
nes corps  was  on  the  farther  side,  and  Devoust  in 
A?~ienna;  the  Austrian  army  of  eighty  thousand  men 
came  rolling  down  the  mountain-side  and  over  the 
plain,  like  a  resistless  flood.  Fourteen  thousand 
cavalry  accompanied  this  magnificent  host,  while 
nearly  three  hundred  cannon  came  trundling,  with 
the  sound  of  thunder  over  the  ground.  The  army 
advanced  in  five  massive  columns,  with  a  curtain  of 
cavalry  in  front  to  conceal  their  movements  and  di- 
rection. Bonaparte  looked  with  an  unquiet  eye  on 
this  advancing  host,  while  shis  own  army  was  still 
separated  by  the  Danube.  In  a  moment  the  field  was 
in  an  uproar.  Lannes,  having  at  length  crossed,  took 
possession  of  Essling,  a  little  village  that  stood  half  a 
mile  from  the  Danube  ;  and  Massena  of  Aspern,  another 
village,  standing  at  the  same  distance  from  the  river, 
and  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Essling.  These  two  vil- 
lages were  the  chief  points  of  defence  between  which 
the  French  army  was  drawn  up  in  line.  Around  these 
two  villages,  in  which  were  entrenched  these  twc  re- 
nowned leaders,  were  to  be  the  heat  and  strength  oi 
the  battle.  Three  mighty  columns  were  seen  march- 
ing with  firm  and  rapid  steps  on  Aspern,  while 
towards  Essling,  where  the  brave  Lannes  lay,  there 
Beemed  a  countless  host  moving.  Between,  thunder- 
ed the  two  hundred  and  ninety  pieces  of  cannon,  as 
they  slowly  advanced,  enveloping  the  field  in  a  cloud 
of  smoke,  blotting  out  the  noon-day  sun,  and  send- 


BATTLE     OF     ASPEKN. 

ing  death  and  havoc  amid  the  French  ranks.  An 
night  drew  on,  the  conflict  became  indescribably  aw- 
ful. Bursting  sLells,  explosions  of  artillery,  and 
volleys  of  musketry,  were  mingled  with  shouts  of 
victory  and  cries  of  terror ;  while  over  all,  as  if  to 
drown  all,  was  heard  at  intervals  the  braying  of 
trumpets  and  strains  of  martial  music.  The  villages 
in  which  Massena  and  Lannes  maintained  their 
ground  with  such  unconquerable  firmness,  took  fire, 
and  burned  with  a  red  flame  over  the  nightly  battle- 
field, adding  ten-fold  horror  to  the  work  of  death. 
But  I  do  not  intend  to  describe  the  first  day's  battle, 
as  I  shall  refer  to  it  again  when  speaking  of  Massena 
and  Bessieres,  who  fought  with  a  desperation  and  un- 
conquerable firmness  that  astonished  even  Napoleon. 

At  eleven  o'clock  at  night  the  uproar  of  battle 
ceased,  and  through  the  slowly  retiring  cloud  of  war 
that  rolled  away  towards  the  Danube,  the  stars  came 
out  one  by  one,  to  look  on  the  dead  and  the  dying. 
Groans  and  cries  loaded  the  midnight  blast,  while 
the  sleeping  host  lay  almost  in  each  other's  embrace. 
Bonaparte,  wrapped  in  his  military  cloak,  lay  stretch- 
ed beside  the  Danube,  not  half  a  mile  from  the  ene- 
my's cannon.  The  sentinels  could  almost  shake 
hands  across  the  narrow  space  that  separated  them ; 
and  thus  the  living  and  the  dead  slept  together  on  the 
hard-fought  field,  while  the  silent  cannon,  loaded 
with  death,  were  pointing  over  the  slumbering  hosts. 
Lulled  by  the  Danube,  that  rolled  its  turbulent  flood 
by  his  side,  and  canopied  by  the  stars,  NapoleoD 
rested  his  exhausted  frame  while  he  revolved  the 
disastrous  events  of  the  day,  and  pondered  how  he 
might  redeem  his  error.  Massena  had  lost  most  of 
Aspern ;  but  Lannes  still  held  Essling,  and  had  held 


MARSHAL     LANCES.  215 

it  during  one  of  the  most  sanguinary  struggles  of  that 
fiercely  fought  battle. 

Early  in  the  morning,  as  soon  as  the  light  broke 
over  the  eastern  hills,  the  two  armies  were  again  on 
their  feet,  and  the  cannon  opened  anew  on  tho  walla 
of  living  men.  The  French  troops  were  dispirited^ 
for  the  previous  day  had  been  one  of  defeat;  while 
the  Austrians  were  full  of  hope.  But  the  rest  of  Lan- 
nas'  corps  had  crossed  the  Danube  during  the  night ; 
while  Davoust,  with  nearly  thirty  thousand  more, 
was  marching  with  flying  colours  over  the  bridge. 
The  Archduke  had  also  received  reinforcements,  so 
that  two  armies  of  about  a  hundred  thousand  each, 
stood  ready  to  contest  the  field  on  the  second  day. 
At  the  commencement  of  the  onset,  Lannes  was 
driven  for  the  first  time  from  Essling  ;  but  St.  Hiliare 
coming  up  to  his  aid,  he  rallied  his  defeated  troops 
and  led  them  back  to  the  charge,  re- took  the  place, 
and  held  it,  though  artillery,  infantry  and  cavalry 
thundered  upon  it  with  shocks  that  threatened  to 
sweep  the  village  itself  from  the  plain. 

At  length,  Bonaparte,  tired  of  acting  on  the  defen- 
sive, began  to  prepare  for  his  great  and  decisive 
movement  on  the  centre.  Massena  was  to  hold  As- 
pern,  Davoust  to  march  on  Essling,  while  Lannes — 
the  brave  Lannes,  who  had  fought  with  such  courage, 
and  almost  superhuman  energy,  for  two  days — was 
ordered,  with  Oudinot,  to  force  the  centre  and  cut  tho 
Austrian  army  ill  two.  Bonaparte  called  him  to  his 
side,  and  from  his  station  behind  the  lines  which 
overlooked  the  field,  pointed  out  to  him  the  course  he 
wished  him  to  take.  Lannes  spurred  to  his  post,  and 
when  all  was  ready,  Napoleon  came  riding  along  the 
lines  to  animate  the  soldiers  in  the  decisive  onset  thai 
w.is  about  to  be  made.  The  shouts  of  "Vive 


CIIAKGK     AT     A8PKUN 

pereur!"  with  which  they  received  him,  were  heitrd 
above  the  roar  of  battle,  and  fell  with  an  ominous 
sound  upon  the  Austrian  lines.  Apprised  by  the 
shouts  where  the  Emperor  was  passing,  they  imme- 
diately turned  their  cannon  in  that  direction,  hoping  by 
«  chance  shot  to  strike  him  down.  General  Monthier  was 
killed  by  his  side,  but  he  himself  passed  unhurt  through 
the  fire.  In  a  few  minutes,  Lannes'  terrible  columns 
were  on  the  march,  and  moved  with  rapid  step  over 
the  field.  Two  hundred  cannon  were  placed  in  front, 
and  advanced  like  a  rapidly  moving  wall  of  fire  over 
the  cumbered  ground.  Behind  was  the  cavalry — the 
irresistible  horsemen  that  had  swept  so  many  battle- 
fields for  Napoleon,  and  before  the  onset  of  which  the 
best  infantry  of  Europe  had  gone  down. 

The  Imperial  Guard  formed  the  reserve.  Thus 
irrayed  and  sustained,  those  steady  columns  entered 
the  close  fire  of  the  Austrian  batteries  and  the  deadly 
volleys  of  the  infantry.  Lannes  knew  that  the  fate 
of  the  battle  was  placed  in  his  hands,  and  that  the 
eye  of  Napoleon  was  fixed  with  the  deepest  anxiety 
upon  him.  He  felt  the  weight  of  Europe  on  his 
shoulders,  and  determined  to  sustain  it.  In  front, 
clearing  a  path  for  his  strong  legions,  went  the  artil- 
lery, rending  the  serried  lines  as  though  they  had 
been  threads  of  gossamer.  Around  the  threatened 
point  the  whole  interest  of  the  battle  gathered,  and 
the  most  wasting  and  destructive  fire  opened  on  Lan- 
nes' steady  ranks.  But  nothing  could  resist  the 
weight  and  terror  of  their  shock.  Through  and 
through  the  Austrian  lines  they  went,  with  the 
strength  of  the  inrolling  tide  of  the  sea.  Into  the  wild 
battle-gorge  thus  made  by  their  advance  the  cavalry 
plunged  at  headlong  gallop,  shaking  theii  subres 


MARSHAL     LANNES.  217 

above  their  heads,  and  sending  their  victorious  shouts 
over  the  roar  of  the  artillery.  They  dashed  on  the 
ranks  with  such  fury,  that  whole  battalions  broke 
and  fled,  crying,  "  All  is  lost."  Amid  this  confusion 
and  dismay  still  advanced  the  firm  column  of  Lan- 
nes.  On,  on  it  moved  with  the  strength  of  fate  itself, 
and  Bonaparte  saw  with  delight  his  favourite  Marshal 
wringing  the  crowTn  from  Germany,  and  placing  it 
on  his  head.  At  length  the  enveloped  host  pierced 
to  the  reserve  grenadiers  of  the  Austrian  army,  and 
the  last  fatal  blow  seemed  about  to  be  given.  In  this 
dreadful  crisis  the  Archduke  showed  the  power  and 
heroism  of  Napoleon  himself.  Seeing  that  all  was 
lost  without  a  desperate  effort,  and  apparently  not 
curing  for  his  life  if  defeat  must  be  endured,  he  spur- 
red his  steed  among  the  shaking  ranks,  rallying  them 
by  his  voice  and  bearing,  and  seizing  the  standard 
of  Zach's  corps,  which  was  already  yielding  to  the 
onset,  charged  at  their  head  like  a  thunder-bolt.  Ilia 
generals,  roused  by  his  example,  dashed  into  tho 
thickest  of  the  fight,  and  at  the  head  of  their  respec- 
tive divisions  fell  like  successive  waves  upon  the 
head  of  Lannes'  column.  Those  brave  officers, 
almost  to  a  man,  sunk  before  the  fire  that  received 
them ;  but  that  dreadful  column  was  checked  for  the 
first  time  in  its  advance,  and  stood  like  a  rock  amid 
its  foes.  The  Austrians  were  thrown  into  squares, 
and  stood  in  checkers  on  the  field.  Into  the  very 
hoart  of  these,  Lannes  had  penetrated  and  stopped, 
The  empire  stopped  with  him,  and  Napoleon  saw 
at  once  the  peril  of  his  chief.  The  brave  cuiras- 
siers, that  had  broken  the  best  infantry  of  the  world, 
were  immediately  ordered  to  the  rescue.  Shaking 
the  ground  over  which  they  galloped — their  glittering 


218  THE     J4ETKEAT. 

armour  rattling  as  they  came — they  burst  into  th* 
midst  of  the  enemy  and  charged  the  now  steady  bat- 
talions with  appaling  fury.  Round  and  round  the 
firm  squares  they  rode,  spurring  their  steeds  against 
the  very  points  of  the  bayonets,  but  in  vain.  Not  a 
square  broke,  not  a  battalion  fled;  and,  charged  in 
turn  by  the  Austrian  cavalry,  they  were  compelled  tc 
fall  back  on  their  own  infantry.  Still  Lannes  stood 
amid  the  wreck  and  carnage  of  the  battle-field  around 
him.  Unable  to  deploy  so  as  to  return  the  terrific  fire 
that  wasted  him,  and  disdaining  to  fly,  he  let  his 
ranks  melt  away  beside  him.  Being  in  squares,  the 
Austrians  could  fire  to  advantage,  while  Lannes  could 
only  return  it  from  the  edges  of  his  column.  Seeing 
that  he  dare  not  deploy  his  men,  the  Archduke  advanc- 
ed the  cannon  to  within  five  rods  of  them,  and  there 
played  on  the  dense  masses.  Every  discharge  opened 
huge  gaps,  and  men  seemed  like  mist,  before  the  de- 
etructive  storm.  Still  that  shivering  column  stood  as 
if  rooted  to  the  ground,  while  Lannes  surveyed  with 
a  flashing  eye  the  disastrous  field  from  which  he  saw 
there  was  no  relief.  Amid  this  destruction,  and  in 
this  crisis,  the  ammunition  began  to  fail,  and  his 
own  cannon  were  less  hotly  worked.  Just  then, 
too,  the  news  began  to  fly  over  the  field,  that  the 
bridges  across  the  Danube  had  been  carried  away  by 
the  heavy  boats  that  had  been  floated  down  against 
them.  Still  Lannes  disdained  to  fly,  and  seemed  to 
resolve  to  perish  in  his  footsteps.  The  brave  Mar- 
shal knew  he  could  not  win  the  battle ;  but  he  knew 
also,  he  could  die  on  the  spot  where  he  struggled  for 
an  Empire.  Bonaparte,  as  he  looked  over  the  disor- 
dered field  from  his  position,  saw  at  once  that  tlui 
battle  was  lost.  Still,  in  this  dreadful  crisis  he  showed 


MARSHAL     LANNE8.  21S 

no  agitation  or  excitement.  Calm  and  collected,  as  i1 
on  a  mere  review,  lie  surveyed  the  ruin  about  him, 
and,  by  his  firm  bearing,  steadied  the  soldiers  and 
officers  amid  whom  he  moved.  Seeing  that  no  time 
was  to  be  lost  if  he  would  save  the  remnant  of  his 
army — for  the  bridges  were  fast  yielding  to  the  swol» 
leu  stream — he  ordered  a  general  retreat.  Lannes 
and  his  army  then  began  to  retire  over  the  field. 
In  a  moment  the  retreat  became  general,  and  the 
whole  army  rolled  heavily  towards  the  bridge  that 
crossed  to  the  island  of  Lobau.  As  they  concentrated 
on  the  shore,  it  became  one  mighty  mass,  where  not  a 
shot  could  fall  amiss. 

The  Archduke,  wishing  to  turn  this  retreat  into  a 
total  route,  immediately  advanced  with  his  whole 
army  upon  them.  His  entire  artillery  was  brought 
'up  and  arranged  in  a  semi-circle  around  this  dense 
mass,  crowding  on  to  the  bridges,  and  poured  its  con- 
centrated storm  into  their  midst  with  horrible  effect. 
It  seemed  as  if  nothing  could  prevent  an  utter  over- 
throw ;  but  Lannes,  cool  and  resolute  as  his  Emperor, 
rallied  his  best  men  in  the  rear,  and  covered  the  re- 
treating and  bleeding  army.  With  Massena  by  his 
side,  now  steadying  his  troops  by  his  words  and  ac- 
tions, now  charging  like  fire  on  the  advancing  lines, 
these  two  heroes  saved  the  army  from  burial  in  the 
Danube. 

Lannes  never  appeared  to  better  advantage  than 
on  this  occasion.  His  impetuosity  was  tempered  by 
the  most  serious  and  thoughtful  actions,  and  he 
seemed  to  feel  the  importance  of  the  great  mission 
with  which  he  had  been  entrusted.  At  length,  dis- 
mounting from  his  horse  to  escape  the  tempest  oi 
cannon  balls  which  swept  down  every  thing  over  the 


220  HIS     DEA.TIT. 

soldiers'  heads,  he  was  struck  by  a  shot  as  he  touched 
the  ground,  which  carried  away  the  whole  of  the 
right  leg,  and  the  foot  and  ankle  of  the  left.  Placed 
on  a  litter,  he  was  immediately  carried  over  the 
bridge  into  the  island,  where  Bonaparte  was  superin- 
tending some  batteries  with  which  to  protect  the 
passage.  Seeing  a  litter  approach  him,  Napoleon 
turned,  and,  lo,  there  lay  the  bleeding  and  dying 
Lannes.  The  fainting  Marshal  seized  him  by  the 
hand,  and  in  a  tremulous  voice  exclaimed,  "  Farewell, 
sire.  Live  for  the  world,  but  bestow  a  passing  thought 
on  one  of  your  best  friends,  who  in  two  hours  will  be 
no  more." 

The  roar  of  battle  was  forgotten,  and  reckless  alike 
of  his  defeat  and  the  peril  of  his  army,  of  all,  save 
the  dying  friend  by  his  side,  Napoleon  knelt  over  the 
rude  couch  and  wept  like  a  child.  The  lip  that  had 
seemed  made  of  iron  during  the  day,  now  quivered 
with  emotion,  and  the  eye  that  had  never  blenched 
in  the  wildest  of  the  battle,  now  flowed  with  tears. 
The  voice  of  affection  spoke  louder  than  the  thunder 
of  artillery,  and  the  marble-hearted  monarch  wept. 
And  well  he  might.  For  there  before  him,  mangled 
and  torn,  lay  the  friend  of  his  youth,  and  the  com- 
panion of  his  early  career — he  who  charged  by  his 
Bide  at  Lodi  and  Arcola — saved  his  army  at  Monte- 
bello,  and  Italy  at  Marengo — who  opened  Ratisbon 
to  his  victorious  army — nay,  the  right  hand  of  his 
power — broken  and  fallen  forever.  "Lannes,"  said 
he,  in  his  overpowering  emotion,  "do  you  not  know 
me?  it  is  the  Emperor,  it  is  Bonaparte,  your  friend; 
you  will  yet  live."  "  I  would  that  I  might,"  replied 
the  dying  hero,  "for  you  and  my  country,  but  in  an 


MARSHAL     L  ANNE  8.  221 

hour  I  shall  be  no  more."  Soon  after  he  fainted 
away,  and  then  became  delirious.  He  lingered  thus 
for  nine  days,  now  charging  in  his  frantic  dreams  at 
the  head  of  his  column,  now  calling  wildly  on  tho 
Emperor  to  come  to  him,  and  now  raving  about  hia 
cruel  fate.  He  would  not  hear  of  death,  and  when 
told  that  he  must  die,  that  nothing  could  save  him — 
"Not  save  a  Marshal  of  France!"  he  exclaimed, 
"  and  a  Duke  of  Montebello !  Then  the  Emperor 
shall  hang  you."  No,  death  spares  neither  Marshals 
nor  Dukes,  and  the  hero  of  so  many  combats  had 
fought  his  last  battle. 

Lannes  was  prodigal  of  money,  notwithstanding 
the  attempt  of  Mr.  Alison  to  make  him  covetous : 
frank  even  to  bluntness,  and  unconscious  of  fear.  In 
the  midst  of  battle,  his  penetrating  eye  detected  every 
movement  with  precision.  Napoleon  himself  says  oi 
him :  "  Lannes  was  wise,  prudent,  and  withal  bold  ; 
gifted  with  imperturbable  sang  froid  in  presence  oi 
the  enemy."  There  was  not  a  General  in  the  French 
army  that  could  manoeuvre  thirty  thousand  infantry 
on  the  field  of  battle  so  well  as  he,  and  had  he  lived, 
would  have  become  as  distinguished  for  his  military 
skill  as  he  was  for  his  bravery.  His  intellect  was 
developing  rapidly,  and  Napoleon  was  astonished  at 
the  growth  of  his  understanding.  In  a  few  years 
more,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  ablest  Generala 
of  his  time.  The  rashness  of  youth  was  rapidly 
giving  way  to  the  reflection  of  the  man,  and  his  char- 
acter was  forming  on  a  solid  and  permanent  basis. 
He  was  but  forty  years  of  age  when  he  died.  His 
soldiers  loved  him  like  children,  and  a  poor  officer 
never  was  forgotten  by  him.  His  wife,  whom  b<? 


222  HIS     CHARACTER. 

married  in  poverty,  and  from  the  lower  ranks  of  life, 
partook  of  his  generosity  and  kindness. 

The  eldest  son  of  Lannes,  the  present  Duke  of 
Montebello,  married,  not  many  years  ago,  in  Paris,  a 
daughter  of  Charles  Jenkinson,  an  English  gentle 
man. 


Y1L 


MARSHAL  MONOEY. 

His  Early  Life — Operations  in  Spain — The  Presentation  by  Napoleon  ot 
his  Son  to  him  and  the  National  Guard — His  noble  efforts  in  behalf  oi 
Key — Reception  of  Napoleon's  body  when  brought  from  St.  Helena. 

THEKE  can  be  no  greater  contrast  than  that  between 
Moncey  and  most  of  Napoleon's  other  Marshals.  The 
moral  qualities  in  him  predominated  over  the  mental, 
and  while  he  did  every  thing  right,  he  did  nothing 
brilliant.  Notwithstanding  the  injustice  of  it,  the 
world  will  insist  on  judging  every  man  by  the  same 
standard,  without  regard  to  the  natural  temperament  or 
mental  constitution.  For  the  quiet,  upright  and 
charitable  life  a  man  naturally  of  a  mild  spirit  and 
equable  feelings  leads,  he  receives  all  the  praise  of 
one  who  has  combatted  his  fierce  propensities,  and  by 
a  long  process  of  self-discipline,  chastened  his  spirit 
and  corrected  his  actions.  The  world  seems  to  forget 
he  is  acting  out  his  natural  tendencies,  and  to  be  rash, 
positive,  &J3U  encroaching,  would  require  a  painful 
effort.  Being  without  force  of  will  and  the  concen- 
tration of  purpose  which  loves  action,  and  seeks  great 
accomplishments,  he  is  not  at  home  in  the  violence  of 
political  revolutions  or  the  fierce  tumult  of  battle.  In 
following  the  peaceful  and  even  path  he  treads,  he  ia 
consulting  his  own  tastes  and  inclinations,  yet  men 
point  to  him  as  a  model.  He  may  be  a  good  man, 
and  worthy  of  all  admiration ;  yet  were  the  world 


224:  II  18     CHARACTER. 

filled  with  such,  it  would  stagnate.  Such  men  nevei 
make  reformers — conceive  and  execute  vast  plans,  or 
push  the  race  onward  towards  its  final  goal. 

Neither  will  men  average  character.  They  will 
not  allow  for  the  peculiar  nature  with  which  one  is  en- 
dowed, nor  let  his  good  and  bad  qualities  balance  each 
other.  A  man  of  strong  and  vivid  imagination,  and 
impetuous  spirit,  may  not  only  exhibit  more  principle, 
show  more  self-control,  and  acquire  greater  virtue  in 
disciplining  himself  to  the  point  from  which  errors 
are  still  committed,  than  he  who  is  without  spot  or 
blame, — but  his  actions  if  mingled  up  would  take  a 
higher  level.  One  error  "  covers  a  multitude  "  of  vir- 
tues in  this  world. 

Moncey  and  Murat  were  as  different  as  light  and 
darkness — neither  one  could  have  been  the  other  by 
any  possible  training.  The  career  of  the  former  was 
like  a  stream  flowing  through  valleys — steady  and 
equable — that  of  the  latter  like  a  rushing  wave — now 
breaking  in  grandeur  on  the  shore,  and  now  retiring 
out  of  sight  into  the  deep.  The  former  cultivates  our 
sentiments,  the  latter  kindles  our  imagination  and 
awakens  our  emotions.  Murat  was  a  chivalric 
knight — Moncey  an  honest  man.  One  went  down 
like  a  gallant  ship  at  sea — the  other  slowly  wasted 
away  in  the  peaceful  port  where  he  sought  shelter 
and  repose.  But,  if  Moncey  was  not  a  brilli  nt  man, 
he  exhibited  in  the  early  part  of  his  career  the  quali- 
ties of  a  good  general,  and  received  the  reward  of  his 
bravery  and  success  in  being  made  Duke  yf  Cornegliauo 
and  Marshal  of  the  Empire. 

Rose-Adrien  de  Moncey  was  born  at  Bezancon,  in 
July,  1754:.  His  father  was  lawyer  of  the  town  par- 
liament, and  designed  to  fit  his  son  for  his  own  peace- 


MAKSHAL     MONOEY.  225 

t'ul  pursuits.  But,  young  Adrien,  seized  with  a  love 
for  military  life  so  common  to  youth,  enlisted  when 
but  fifteen  years  old,  in  the  infantry.  His  father 
thinking  that  the  rigours  of  a  camp-life  would  soon 
disgust  him.  let  him  remain  six  months  and  then  pro- 
cured his  discharge.  He,  however,  soon  ran  away 
and  enlisted  in  another  regiment  of  infantry.  His 
father  seeing  the  force  of  his  inclinations,  left  him  to 
pursue  his  own  course,  and  he  served  as  grenadier  for 
three  years.  Having  been  engaged  in  no  battle  in 
that  time,  and  receiving  no  promotion,  he  concluded 
to  abandon  his  musket  and  return  home,  where  he 
commenced  the  study  of  law.  But  a  garrison  being 
in  the  town,  it  awakened  all  his  old  habits  and  tastes 
and  drew  him  away  from  his  studies.  As  a  natural 
result,  he  again  became  a  soldier,  and  in  about  four 
years  reached  the  rank  of  sub-lieutenant  of  dragoons. 
The  Revolution  breaking  out,  a  new  life  opened 
to  him,  and  he  entered  at  once  on  his  successful 
career.  Draughted  into  a  battalion  of  light-infantry, 
he  went  up  rapidly  to  captain,  chief  of  battalion,  and 
general  of  division.  During  the  first  campaigns  of 
the  Republic  he  distinguished  himself  as  a  brave  and 
upright  officer. 

In  1794,  he  was  sent  to  the  "Western  Pyrennees,  to 
defend  the  frontiers  of  France  against  the  invasions 
of  Spain.  After  the  success  of  Dugomier  in  the  East, 
it  was  resolved  to  invade  Spain  in  turn  by  Catalonia 
and  Navarre.  The  army  advanced  in  three  columns 
through  three  different  passes — Moncey  commanded 
the  third.  He  forced  the  passage  appointed  to  him, 
took  St,  Sebastian,  and  on  the  next  day  fired  tJie 
gates  of  Tolosa.  Constant  successes  followed  the 
army,  which  filled  the  Convention  with  joy.  The 


226  HIS     CAREER     IN     SPAIN. 

representative  Garrau,  after  enumerating  the  extras 
dinary  victories  that  had  been  gained,  closed  with 
saying,  "The  soldiers  of  this  army  are  not  men — 
they  are  either  demons  or  gods."  The  whole  state  of 
French  affairs  was  changed  in  that  quarter,  and  as  it 
was  attributed  chiefly  to  the  energy  and  skill  of  Mon- 
cey,  he  wfuS  nominated  commander-in-chief.  Hearing 
of  his  nomination,  he  wrote  to  the  Convention  not  to 
ratify  it,  as  he  did  not  deem  himself  qualified  for  the 
station.  But  the  Convention  paid  no  heed  to  his  re- 
^monstrance,  and  he  was  proclaimed  "Commander-in- 
chief  of  the  army  in  Spain."  He  soon  showed  that 
the  government  had  not  misplaced  its  confidence ;  for 
pursuing  his  success,  he  beat  the  Spaniards  at  Lecum- 
berry  and  Villa  Nova, — passed  the  Deva,  overcame  the 
enemy  at  Villa  Real  and  Mont  Dragon, — 'took  Bilboa, — 
routed  the  enemy  at  Vittoria,  and  overrun  all  Biscay. 
The  court  at  Madrid,  alarmed  at  the  rapid  advance 
of  the  republican  general,  offered  terms  of  peace,  which 
were  accepted,  and  the  victorious  Moncey  left  the  field 
of  his  fame,  and  returned  to  France.  In  1Y96,  he  was 
sent  to  command  the  army  on  the  side  of  Brest.  Hav- 
ing used  all  his  endeavour  to  heal  the  divisions  in 
Vendee,  he  was  appointed  at  the  end  of  the  year  to 
command  the  first  military  division  at  Bayonne.  Here 
he  remained  idle,  while  the  French  army  was  filling 
the  world  with  its  deeds,  along  the  Nile  and  around 
the  Pyramids;  and  winning  laurels  in  the  Alps  and  by 
I  lie  Rhine. 

TV  hen  Bonaparte  was  appointed  First  Consul,  Mon- 
cey, then  at  Paris,  received  the  command  of  the  fif- 
teenth military  division  at  Lyons.  Soon  after,  wheu 
tho  former  commenced  operations  in  Italy,  the  latter 
was  despatched  thither  with  fifteen  thousand  men. 


MARSHAL     MONCEY.  227 

Wliile  the  lormer  was  descending  from  the  heights 
of  St.  Bernard,  the  latter  was  leading  his  army  oi 
fifteen  thousand  men  over  the  pass  of  St.  Gothard. 
His  historians  have  made  him  present  at  the  battle  o* 
Mareugo,  but  on  the  day  of  that  great  victory  to  the 
French,  he  was  guarding  the  Tessino,  awaiting  orders 
from  Bonaparte. 

In  1801,  he  was  made  chief  inspector  of  the  gens 
cParmerie,  and  three  years  after  received  his  Marshal's 
baton.  Grand  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  Pre- 
sident of  the  Electoral  College  of  his  own  department, 
and  Duke  of  Cornegliano,  followed  in  rapid  succession. 

In  1808,  when  Napoleon  invaded  Spain,  Moncey 
was  sent  into  Valencia  at  the  head  of  ten  thousand 
men,  to  watch  the  country  between  the  Lower  Ebro 
and  Carthagena,  and  if  he  thought  it  advisable,  to 
attack  Valencia  itself.  Hearing  at  Cuenca  that  an 
army  of  thirty  thousand  men  was  gathered  to  attack 
him,  and  that  the  insurrection  in  the  province  was 
rapidly  increasing,  he  resolved  to  march  on  the  city 
of  Valencia.  He  immediately,  according  to  his  in- 
structions, sent  a  despatch  to  General  Chabran,  whom 
he  supposed  to  be  at  Tortosa,  to  march  also  towards  the 
city,  and  effect  a  junction  with  his  army  there  on  the 
27th  or  28th  of  the  month.  In  the  mean  time,  he  mov- 
ed forward  with  his  small  army  towards  the  place. 

Forcing  the  river  Gabriel,  he  continued  his  march 
without  serious  interruption,  and  took  up  his  position  at 
Otriel.  But  hearing  that  the  patriots  to  the  number 
of  twelve  thousand  were  intrenching  themselves  at 
Cabrillas  on  his  left,  he  turned  aside  to  attack  them. 
As  lie  came  up  to  them,  his  experienced  eye  saw  im- 
mediately the  advantageous  position  they  had  taken. 
Th  :ir  centre  was  behind  a  deep,  narrow  defile,  lined 


228  SECOND    CAMPAIGN     IN     SPAIN. 

with  precipitous  rocks,  on  which  were  gathered  mnlti 
tudes  of  armed  peasantry,  while  the  two  wings  stretch- 
ed along  the  side  of  a  steep  and  rocky  mountain. 
Opening  his  artillery  on  the  centre,  and  keeping  his 
cavalry  hovering  about  the  defile,  in  order  to  draw  off 
the  attention  of  the  enemy,  he  despatched  General 
Harispe  to  turn  their  flank.  The  plan  was  successful, 
and  the  enemy  was  routed  at  all  points.  Continuing 
his  march  he  arrived  before  Yalencia  on  the  27th,  but 
General  Chabran  was  not  there,  nor  could  he  get 
any  tidings  of  him.  He,  however,  disposed  his  forces 
to  the  best  advantage,  opened  his  artillery,  and  sum- 
moned the  city  to  surrender.  But  a  walled  town, 
filled  with  eighty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  surrounded 
by  trenches  flooded  with  water,  so  that  no  approach 
could  be  made  except  through  the  gates,  was  not 
likely  to  yield  to  an  army  of  ten  thousand  men  with- 
out a  struggle.  Moncey  then  undertook  to  carry  it  by 
assault — a  foolish  attempt,  unless,  as  is  reported,  a 
smuggler  had  promised  to  betray  the  place. 

The  assault  was  unsuccessful — the  people  were  in 
arms ;  and  a  friar  traversing  the  streets,  with  a  cross 
in  one  hand  and  a  sword  in  the  other,  roused  them  by 
his  fiery  words  to  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm. 
In  the  meantime,  no  intelligence  having  been  received 
of  Chabran,  and  the  ammunition  being  nearly  expended, 
and  a  thousand  wounded  men  encumbering  his  troops  ; 
he  concluded  to  raise  the  siege,  and  fell  back  to 
Quarte.  Hearing  at  this  place  that  the  Spanish  Gene- 
ral was  on  the  march  for  Almanza  to  intercept  the 
communication  of  the  French  army,  he  resolved  to 
advance  and  attack  him  before  he  could  leave  the 
kingdom  of  Murcia,  from  which  he  was  hastening. 
In  carrying  out  this  plan,  Moncey,  though  now  fifty 


MARSHAL     MONOEY.  £.ee 

four  years  of  age,  exhibited  a  vigour  of  resolution  and 
rapidity  of  movement  that  would  have  honoured  the 
youngest  General  in  the  army. 

Serbellorii  was  impeded  in  his  march  by  the  sud- 
den appearance  of  the  French  Marshal  before  him, 
and  hastily  took  position  behind  the  river  Xucar. 

Moncey,  however,  forced  the  passage,  and  Serbel- 
ioxri  retired  to  some  heights  that  commanded  the  high 
road  to  Almanza,  designing  to  take  possession  of  the 
defiles  before  the  town,  and  there  dispute  the  entrance 
with  the  enemy.  But  Moncey's  rapidity  of  move- 
ment again  defeated  him  ;  for  marching  all  night,  he 
drew  up  his  army  in  the  principal  gorge  and  saluted 
the  Spaniards  as  they  approached  in  the  morning 
with  a  discharge  of  artillery.  Having  dispersed  them, 
he  entered  the  town  in  triumph. 

The  whole  province  soon  after  arising  in  arms,  his 
position  became  perilous,  and  Caulincourt  was  sent 
to  reinforce  him.  Thus  strengthened,  he  began  to 
inarch  back  on  Valencia.  But  Savary  entrusted 
with  the  chief  command  for  a  short  time  in  this  de- 
partment, arrested  his  movements  with  so  little  cere- 
mony, that  he  was  offended,  and  returned  to  Madrid, 
Soon  after,  he  was  ordered  to  besiege  Saragossa. 
Arriving  before  the  city,  he  summoned  the  inhabi- 
tants to  surrender  and  prevent  the  slaughter  that 
must  ensue  if  the  siege  was  carried  on.  In  a  few 
days,  however,  he  was  susperseded  by  Junot. 

Moncey's  operations  were  not  very  brilliant,  and 
could  not  well  be  with  so  small  a  force,  still  he  killed 
and  wounded,  in  the  several  battles  he  fought,  a  num- 
ber equal  to  his  entire  army,  showing  that  he  was 
anything  but  an  inactive  and  inefficient  leader.  Na- 
pier, in  speaking  of  his  operations  in  Valencia,  give? 


230  RECEIVES     NAPOLEON    8     SON. 

him  great  credit,  and  says,  'Marshal  Moncey,  •whose 
whole  force  was  at  first  only  eight  thousand  French, 
and  never  exceeded  ten  thousand  men,  continued 
marching  and  fighting,  without  cessation,  for  a  month, 
during  which  period  he  forced  two  of  the  strongest 
mountain  passes  in  the  world — crossed  several  large 
and  difficult  rivers — carried  the  war  into  the  very 
streets  of  Valencia,  and  being  disappointed  of  assist- 
ance from  Catalonia,  extricated  his  division  from  a  diffi- 
cult situation,  after  having  defeated  his  opponents  in 
five  actions,  killed  and  wounded  a  number  of  them, 
equal  in  amount  to  the  whole  of  his  own  force,  and 
made  a  circuit  of  three  hundred  miles,  through  a  hos- 
tile and  populous  country,  without  having  sustained 
any  serious  loss  ;  without  any  desertion  from  the  Span- 
ish battalions  incorporated  with  his  own,  and  what  was 
of  more  importance,  having  those  battalions  much  in- 
creased by  desertions  from  the  enemy."  In  another 
place  he  says,  "  Moncey,  though  an  old  man,  was  vigor- 
ous, active,  and  decided." 

Recalled  to  Paris  by  Napoleon,  he  was  sent  into 
Flanders  to  repel  the  English,  who  wrere  threatening 
a  descent  upon  Antwerp.  The  failure  of  that  expedi- 
tion leaving  him  without  active  employment,  he  was 
appointed  to  the  command  of  the  army  of  reserve  in 
the  North.  When  Napoleon  projected  his  fatal  Rus- 
sian campaign,  Moncey,  then  an  old  man,  threw  in  hia 
strenuous  remonstrance  against  it.  After  its  disas- 
trous termination,  he  did  but  little  till  the  allies  in- 
vaded France.  When  Napoleon,  in  that  crisis  of 
his  life,  roused  himself  to  meet  the  storm  that  was 
darkening  over  his  throne,  he  saw,  with  his  far-reach 
ing  glance,  that  the  enemy  might  approach  to  Paris; 
and  among  his  last  dispositions  was  the  reor^aniza- 


MARSHAL     MONCEY.  231 

the  National  Guard,  over  which  he  placed  the  \eteran 
Moncey. 

On  the  Monday  previous  to  his  setting  out  foi 
the  army,  to  make  his  last  stand  for  his  Empire ; 
he  assembled  the  officers  of  the  National  Guard 
in  the  Palace  of  the  Tuilleries,  and  there,  in  solemn 
pomp,  committed  his  son  to  their  charge.  The  Em- 
press advanced  first  into  the  apartment,  followed  by 
Madame  Montesquieu  carrying  the  infant  king — al- 
ready proclaimed  King  of  Rome.  The  innocent  child, 
but  three  years  old,  was  dressed  in  the  uniform  of 
the  National  Guard,  and  his  blue  eyes  sparkled  with 
delight  at  the  gay  ornaments  that  now,  for  the  first 
time  adorned  his  vestments,  while  his  golden  locks 
clustered  in  ringlets  about  his  neck.  Taking  him  by 
the  hand,  Napoleon  stepped  into  the  midst  of  the 
circle  of  officers,  and  thus  addressed  them :  "  Gentle- 
men, I  am  now  to  set  out  for  the  army,  and  I  entrust 
to  you  that  which  I  hold  dearest  in  the  world — my 
wife  and  son.  Let  there  be  no  political  dissensions ; 
lot  the  respect  for  property,  regard  for  order,  and 
above  all,  the  love  of  France,  fill  every  bosom.  I  dp 
not  conceal  from  you  that  in  the  struggle  that  is  to 
come,  the  enemy  may  approach  on  Paris,  but  a  few 
days  will  end  the  affair.  Before  they  arrive  I  will 
be  on  their  flanks  and  rear,  and  annihilate  those  who 
dare  violate  our  country."  After  he  had  closed  his 
address,  a  silence  like  that  of  the  grave  succeeded, 
and  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  presented  him 
to  the  aged  Moncey.  The  old  man,  who  had  stood 
BO  many  battle  shocks  unmoved,  was  now  unnerved : 
and  the  quivering  lip  and  swimming  eye  told  of  the 
deep  emotions  that  mastered  him,  as  he  received  the 
sacred  trust.  "This,"  said  Napoleon,  "is  your  future 
sovereign."  He  then  presented  the  child  to  the  othei 


232  NO1JLE     EFFOKT     TO     SAVE     NEY. 

officers,  and,  as  with  sad  and  serious  countenance  ho 
walked  uncovered  through  their  ranks,  sudden  shouts 
of  enthusiasm  filled  the  apartment ;  and  amid  the  cries 
of  "  Vive  VEmpereur"  and  "  Vive  le  roi  de  Rome" 
tears  burst  from  eyes  unaccustomed  to  weep. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  at  three  o'clock,  Napoleon  left 
his  palace  for  the  army,  never  to  see  his  wife  and  son 
again. 

At  length  the  allied  armies  approached  Paris ; 
and  soon  the  heights  around  the  city  were  cov- 
ered with  their  victorious  legions.  But  previous 
to  this  the  Empress  and  her  son,  by  order  of  Napo- 
leon, had  left  Paris.  Still  the  National  Guard  com- 
bated bravely,  and  Marshal  Moncey,  firm  and  stead- 
fast to  the  end,  struggled  on  after  all  hope  was  gone, 
and  remonstrated  against  submission  until  Mar- 
mont's  defection  ruined  every  thing.  He  then  re- 
signed his  command  to  the  Duke  of  Montmorency, 
and,  faithful  to  the  last,  retired  with  a  few  troops  to 
Fontainbleau,  to  Napoleon.  After  the  abdication  ot 
the  Emperor,  he  gave  in  his  adhesion  to  the  new 
government,  and  was  confirmed  in  his  office  of  In- 
spector General  of  the  Horse  of  the  King's  household, 
and  in  the  June  following,  made  Chevalier  of  Saint 
Louis,  and  two  days  after,  Peer  of  France. 

When  the  news  of  Napoleon's  landing  reached 
Paris,,  he  addressed  the  Gens  d'Armes,  reminding 
them  of  the  oath  they  had  taken,  to  be  faithful  to  the 
King.  He  himself  never  swerved  from  his  new  alle- 
giance ;  and  after  the  second  overthrow  of  Napoleon 
at  "Waterloo,  was  appointed,  as  the  oldest  of  tie  Mar- 
shals, to  preside  at  the  trial  of  Ney.  But  the  firm 
and  upright  old  soldier  not  only  refused  to  sil  in  tht 
Council  of  War,  but  drew  up  an  able  and  bold  reinon 


MARSHAL     MONCEY.  V6c 

stranre  to  the  King,  against  the  act.  The  lettei 
came  to  light  a  few  years  after,  and  was  first  pub- 
lished in  this  country,  and  though  Moncey,  then  in 
favour,  saw  fit  to  deny  its  authenticity,  it  was  in 
terms  that  rather  confirmed  than  weakened  the  com- 
mon belief  of  its  authorship.  The  published  letter, 
not  corresponding  in  every  particular  with  the  writ- 
ten one,  allowed  him  to  disavow  it,  for  the  sake  of  the 
King,  who  did  not  wish  to  take  the  obloquy  of  hav- 
ing treated  so  noble  an  appeal  with  disregard.  He 
says :  "  Placed  in  the  cruel  alternative  to  disobey 
your  Majesty,  or  violate  my  conscience,  I  am  forced 
to  explain  myself  to  your  Majesty.  I  do  not  enter 
into  the  question  of  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  Marshal 
JSTey :  your  justice,  and  the  equity  of  his  judges,  must 
answer  for  that  to  posterity,  which  weighs  in  the 
same  balance,  kings  and  their  subjects."  After 
speaking  of  the  general  peace  and  security  which 
were  established,  and  that  there  was  no  cause  for  this 
high-handed  act  of  cruelty,  except  that  the  allies 
wished  to  take  vengeance  on  one  whose  very  name 
reminded  them  of  their  humiliation,  he  begs  the  King 
to  refuse  his  sanction  to  it.  "  As  for  myself,"  he  says, 
in  true  nobility  of  spirit,  "My  life,  my  fortune,  all 
that  I  hold  most  dear,  belongs  to  my  King  and  my 
country  ;  J)ut  my  honour  is  my  own  /  and  no  power 
can  rob  me  of  it.  What,  shall  I  pronounce  upon  the 
fate  of  Marshal  Ney  !  Permit  me,  Sire,  to  ask  your 
Majesty,  where  were  these  accusers  when  Ney  was 
marching  over  the  field  of  battle  ?  Ah  !  if  Russia 
and  the  allies  are  not  able  to  pardon  the  victor  of 
Borodino,  can  France  forget  the  hero  of  Beresi^a? 
Shall  I  send  to  death  one  to  whom  France  owes  her 
life — her  families,  their  children,  their  husbands,  and 


234  HIS     IMPRISONMENT. 

parents?     Reflect,  Sire;    it  is,  perhaps,  the  last  time 
that  truth  shall  come  near  your  throne. 

"  It  is  very  dangerous,  very  impolitic  to  push  the 
brave  to  despair.  Ah,  if  the  unhappy  Ney  had  ac- 
complished at  Waterloo  what  he  had  so  often  done 
before,  perhaps  he  would  not  have  been  drawn  before 
a  military  commission.  Perhaps  those  who  to-day 
demand  his  death  would  have  implored  his  protec- 
tion. *****"  Nobly  said,  brave  Moncey,  in 
this  trying  hour  of  France,  when  each  was  seeking  to 
preserve  his  )wn  head  or  fortune.  This  single  act 
should  make  him  immortal.  Braving  the  hatred  of 
the  king  and  the  vengeance  of  the  allies,  he  on  whose 
life  was  no  stain,  here  interposed  himself  between  an 
old  companion  in  arms  and  death.  His  place,  his 
fortune,  and  his  liberty  he  regarded  light  as  air  when 
put  in  the  balance  with  his  honour  and  with  justice. 
To  any  but  a  Bourbon's  heart,  this  appeal  would  not 
have  been  in  vain,  and  that  unhappy  race  would 
have  been  saved  another  stain  on  its  character,  and 
EugUnd  a  dishonour  which  she  never  can  wipe  from 
her  history. 

This  bold  refusal  of  the  oldest  Marshal  to  be  presi- 
dent of  the  council  of  war  to  try  Ney,  accompanied 
with  such  a  noble  appeal  to  the  king,  and  deep  con- 
demnation of  the  allies,  awakened,  as  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, the  deepest  indignation.  The  only  reply  to  it, 
was  a  royal  order,  depriving  him  of  his  rank  as  Mar- 
shal, and  condemning  him,  without  trial,  to  three 
months'  imprisonment.  This  order  was  countersign- 
ed by  Marshal  St.  Cyr,  to  his  everlasting  disgrace. 
He  had  better  died  on  the  field  of  his  fame,  or  been 
shot  like  Ney,  by  kingly  murderers,  than  put  his  sig- 
nature to  such  a  paper.  If  all  the  Marshals  had  en 


MARSHAL     MONCEY.  233 

tered  their  solemn  protest  against  the  act,  as  Mcncej 
did,  it  is  doubtful  whether  Ney  would  have  been 
slain. 

The  disgrace  and  imprisonment  of  the  old  Marshal, 
without  even  the  farce  of  a  trial,  was  in  perfect  keep- 
ing with  the  despotic  injustice  that  had  beforehand 
resolved  on  Key's  death.  But  what  a  pitiful  exhibi- 
tion of  kingly  violence  was  this  shutting  up  an  old 
man  over  sixty  years  of  age,  whose  head  had  whiten- 
ed in  the  storm  of  battle,  and  on  whose  name  was  no 
stain  or  even  reproach,  for  daring  in  the  nobleness  oi 
his  nature,  to  refuse  to  condemn  an  old  companion  in 
arms,  by  whose  side  he  had  fought  so  long  and  bravely 
for  France  and  for  freedom. 

When  power  departed  from  Napoleon,  most  of  his 
Marshals,  in  their  eagerness  to  save  their  hard-earned 
honours,  and  rank,  and  fortune,  showed  themselves 
wanting  in  some  of  the  noblest  qualities  of  man. 
But  Moncey,  unmoved  by  all  his  reverses,  still  kept  his 
honour  bright  and  his  integrity  unshaken  ;  and  the 
night  that  he  laid  his  grey  hairs  on  his  prisoner's  pil- 
low, witnessed  a  nobler  deed  than  the  day  that  looked 
on  his  most  victorious  battle-field. 

Louis  XVIII.  was  not  long  in  perceiving  the  bad 
policy  of  this  petty  tyranny ;  and  when  the  three 
months'  imprisonment  was  ended,  he  reinstated  him 
in  his  rank,  and  in  1820  named  him  commandant  ol 
the  9th  military  division,  and  soon  after  chevalier  oi 
the  order  of  Saint  Esprit. 

In  the  inglorious  Spanish  war  of  1823,  Moncey, 
then  nearly  seventy  years  of  age,  was  appointed  over 
the  fourth  corps.  He  marched  into  Spain,  foughl 
several  battles,  and  finally  sat  down  in  regular  siege 
before  Barcelona.  The  capitulation  of  this  city,  after 


236         OOVEKNOJB     OF     THE     INVALID  ES. 

some  severe  fighting,  ended  the  war ;  and  Moncoy  re- 
turned to  France,  and  received  the  grand  cross  of  Saint 
Louis,  and  a  seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Peers. 

In  the  late  Revolution  of  1830,  Moncey  took  nc 
part.  He  had  long  foreseen  the  storm  which  Charles 
X.  by  determining  to  keep  up  the  Bourbon  reputation 
for  folly,  was  gathering  over  his  head,  and  saw  with- 
out regret  the  overthrow  of  his  throne.  His  age  and 
sorrow  for  the  death  of  his  only  son,  who  in  leaping  a 
ditch  in  a  hunting  excursion,  accidently  discharged 
his  gun  and  killed  himself,  had  driven  him  from 
public  life.  But  when  the  Bourbon  throne  went 
down  again,  he  replaced  with  joy  his  old  cockade  oi 
1792. 

After  the  death  of  Marshal  Jourdan,  in  1834,  he 
was  appointed  Governor  of  the  Invalides.  Nothing 
could  be  more  touching  than  the  sight  of  this  old 
veteran,  now  eighty  years  of  age,  among  the  mutila- 
ted and  decrepid  soldiers  of  Napoleon.  Sustained  by 
two  servants,  he  would  drag  himself  from  hall  to  hall 
amid  the  blessings  of  those  old  warriors,  many  ol 
whom  had  seen  him  in  the  pride  of  manly  strength 
and  courage,  lead  his  columns  into  battle.  Nearly 
two  hundred  officers  and  more  than  three  thousand 
men,  the  wreck  of  the  grand  army,  were  assembled 
here,  and  the  oldest  Marshal  of  the  Empire  placed  at 
their  head.  How  striking  the  contrast  which  Mon- 
cey and  those  few  thousand  men  in  their  faded  regi- 
mentals, presented  to  the  magnificent  army  which 
Napoleon  led  so  often  to  victory  From  the  Pyramids, 
from  Lodi,  Arcola,  Marengo,  Austerlitz,  Jena,  Wa- 
gram,  and  Borodino,  where  the  eye  rests  on  mighty 
armies,  moving  to  battle  and  to  victory  amid  tue  un- 
rolling of  standards  and  pealing  of  trumpets ;  the 


MARSHAL     MONCEY. 

glance  returns  to  the  bowed  form  and  grey  hairs,  and 
trembling  voice  of  Moncey,  as  he  moves  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  attendants,  through  the  ranks  oi 
these  few  aged  soldiers,  who  have  come  maimed  from 
almost  every  battle-field  of  Europe,  to  die  in  the 
bosom  of  France. 

Time  had  taken  what  the  sword  left.  Napoleon, 
the  spell-word  which  had  startled  Europe,  was  now 
spoken  in  mournful  accents,  and  the  fields  in  which 
they  had  seen  him  triumph,  were  but  as  dim  remem- 
brances. On  a  far  distant  isle  that  mighty  spirit  had 
sunk  to  rest,  and  the  star  that  had  illumined  a  hemis- 
phere, had  left  the  heavens  forever.  What  ravages 
time  makes !  Who  would  have  thought,  as  he  gazed 
on  the  aged  Moncey  borne  carefully  along,  his  feeble 
voice  saluting  his  old  companions  in  arms,  that  fire 
had  ever  flashed  from  that  eye,  and  amid  the  uproar 
of  cannon  and  shock  of  cavalry  he  had  carried  death 
through  the  ranks  of  the  enemy ;  and  that  those  bowed 
and  limping  soldiers  had  shouted  on  the  fierce-fought 
fields  of  Austerlitz,  Borodino  and  Wagram,  or  sent  up 
their  war-cry  from  the  foot  of  the  Pyramids  2 

The  old  soldiers  loved  to  see  the  form  of  Moncey  in 
their  midst,  and  greeted  him  wherever  he  went  with 
words  of  affection  and  respect.  Indeed,  all  who  knew 
him  loved  him,  for  his  private  life  was  as  spotless  as 
his  military  career.  He  was  the  friend  of  humanity, 
the  patron  of  education,  and  the  firm  supporter  of 
every  benevolent  scheme.  Upright  and  kind,  he  was 
ever  true  to  himself  and  merciful  to  his  enemies.  No 
acts  of  cruelty  marred  his  conquests,  and  even  his 
captives  learned  to  love  him.  His  face  indicated  the 
humane  and  generous  character  he  exhibited.  He 
wes  not  a  brilliant  man,  but,  as  Napoleon  once  said, 


238   NAPOLEON  BROUGHT  BACK  FROM  ST.  HELENA. 

" he  was  an  Jxmtst  man"     He  was  not  wanting  iu 

O 

intellectual  qualities,  but  they  predominated  too  much 
over  his  impulsive  ones,  to  render  him  capable  oi 
those  great  and  chivalrous  actions  which  character- 
ized so  many  of  Napoleon's  generals.  Those  sudden 
inspirations  which  so  often  visit  genius  in  the  hour  of 
danger  or  excitement,  he  was  an  utter  stranger  to. 
He  did  all  things  well,  and  preserved  through  a  long 
career  the  respect  and  confidence  of  the  Emperor ;  for 
though  he  never  flattered  him  in  power,  he  never  betray- 
ed him  in  misfortune.  His  natural  character  was  better 
suited  to  the  military  tactics  of  Wellington  than  Na- 
poleon ;  who — decided,  impetuous,  and  rapid  himself— 
wished  to  have  around  him  men  of  similar  character 
and  temperament. 

The  closing  up  of  Moncey's  life  presents,  perhaps, 
the  most  affecting  scene  in  it.  When  the  remains  of 
Napoleon,  a  few  years  ago,  were  brought  from  St 
Helena,  Moncey,  though  nearly  ninety  years  of  age, 
was  still  governor  of  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  and 
hence  was  appointed  to  receive  them  in  the  name  of 
those  disabled  veterans.  All  France  was  agitated  as 
the  time  drew  near  when  the  vessel  was  expected 
that  bore  back  the  dead  Emperor  to  her  shores.  The 
insulted  hero  had  already  slept  too  long  amid  his  foes, 
and  when  the  vessel  that  was  wafting  him  home 
swept  down  on  the  coast  of  France,  the  excitement 
could  scarcely  have  been  greater,  had  he  been  landing 
with  sword  in  hand. 

On  the  day  of  solemn  procession  in  Paris,  the  whole 
city  was  abroad,  and  Napoleon  in  the  height  of  his 
power  never  received  more  distinguished  honour, 
than  when  dead  lie  was  borne  through  the  capital  of 
his  former  empire.  As  the  procession  passed  through 


MARSHAL     MONCEY.  239 

the  streets,  the  beat  of  the  muffled  drum,  and  tiie  pro- 
longed and  mournful  blast  of  the  trumpet  as  it  rose 
and  fell  through  the  solemn  requiem,  and  all  the  signs 
of  a  nation's  woe,  filled  every  heart  with  the  profoundest 
grief. 

There,  beside  the  coffin,  marched  the  remnants  of  the 
Old  Guard,  once  the  pride  and  strength  of  the  Em 
peror,  and  the  terror  of  Europe ;  and  there,  too,  walked 
Napoleon's  old  war-horse,  covered  with  the  drapery  of 
mourning,  on  whose  back  he  had  galloped  through  the 
battle  ;  and  over  all  drooped  the  banner  of  France, 
heavy  with  crape — all — all  mourning  in  silence  for  the 
mighty  dead. 

The  church  that  was  to  receive  the  body  was 
crowded  in  every  part  of  it,  waiting  its  arrival,  when 
the  multitude  was  seen  to  part  in  front,  and  an  old 
man  bowed  with  years,  his  white  locks  falling  over  a 
whiter  visage,  and  seemingly  ready  himself  to  be  laid 
in  the  tomb,  was  borne  through  the  throng  in  a  large 
arm-chair,  and  placed  at  the  left  of  the  main  altar, 
beside  the  throne.  Covered  with  decorations  and 
honours,  that  contrasted  strangely  with  his  withered 
form,  and  almost  lifeless  features,  he  sat  and  listened 
to  the  heavy  dirge  that  came  sweeping  through  the 
church,  as  if  memory  was  trying  in  vain  to  recall 
the  past.  That  was  Marshal  Moncey,  now  nearly 
ninety  years  of  age,  brought  hither  to  welcome  his  old 
commander  back  to  his  few  remaining  soldiers.  As 
the  funeral  train  slowly  entered  the  court,  the  thunder 
of  cannon  shook  the  solid  edifice,  blending  in  their 
roar  with  the  strains  of  martial  music.  They,  too, 
Beemed  conscious  beings,  and  striving  with  their  olden 
voices  to  awaken  the  chieftain  for  whom  they  had 
swept  so  many  battle-fields.  But  drum  and  trumpet 


240     RECEPTION     OF     NAPOLE^N's     BODY. 

tone,  and  the  sound  of  cannon,  fell  alike  on  the  dull 
ear  of  the  mighty  sleeper.  His  battles  were  all  over, 
and  his  fierce  spirit  gone  to  a  land  where  the  loud  trum- 
pet of  war  is  never  heard. 

As  the  coffin  approached,  the  old  invalid  soldiers 
drew  up  on  each  side  of  the  way,  in  their  old  uniform, 
to  receive  it.  The  spectacle  moved  the  stoutest  heart. 

The  last  time  these  brave  men  had  seen  their  emperor 
was  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  now,  after  long  years,  his 
coffin  approached  their  midst.  The  roar  of  cannon,  and 
the  strains  of  martial  music  brought  back  the  days  of 
glory,  and  as  their  eyes  met  the  pall  that  covered  the 
form  of  their  beloved  chief,  they  fell  on  their  knees  in 
tears  and  sobs,  and  reached  forth  their  hands  in  pas- 
sionate sorrow.  Overwhelmed  with  grief,  and  with 
the  emotions  that  memory  had  so  suddenly  wakened, 
this  was  the  only  welcome  they  could  give  him.  On 
swept  the  train  till  it  entered  the  church ;  and  as  the 
coffin  passed  through  the  door,  heralded  by  the  Prince 
de  Joinville  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  the  im- 
mense throng  involuntarily  rose,  and  a  murmur  nure 
expressive  than  words,  filled  the  house.  The  king  de- 
scended from  his  throne  to  meet  it,  and  the  aged  Mon- 
cey,  who  had  hitherto  sat  immovable  and  dumb,  the 
mere  "  phantom  of  a  soldier,"  suddenly  struggled  to 
rise.  The  soul  awakened  from  its  torpor,  and  the 
dying  veteran  knew  that  Napoleon  was  before  him. 
But  his  strength  failed  him — with  a  feeble  eifort  he 
sunk  back  in  his  chair,  while  a  flash  of  emotion  shot 
over  his  wan  and  wasted  visage  like  a  sunbeam,  and 
his  eye  kindled  a  moment  in  recollection.  It  was  a 
striking  spectacle — that  silent  coffin  and  that  old  Mar- 
shal together.  Nothing  could  be  more  appropriate 
either,  than  this  reception  of  Napoleon's  body.  The 


MARSHAL     MONCB;'/.  5441 

old  soldiers,  and  the  oldest  Marshal  of  the  Empire  wel- 
coming him  back  to  a  resting  place  in  their  midst — 
to  sleep  where  they  could  keep  guard,  and  visit  his 
tomb. 

Soon  after  this  event  Moncey  died,  and  his  only  son 
being  dead,  his  title  of  Duke  of  Cornegliano  was  con- 
ferred on  M.  Duchene,  who  married  his  only  surviving 
daughter. 


14 


vm. 


MARSHAL  MACDONALD 

His  Early  Life— Battle  of  Trebbia — Quarrel  with  Napoleon — His  Paseay 
of  the  Splugen — Charge  at  Wagrain — Defence  at  Leipeio — His  Char 
acter 

IT  is  astonishing  to  see  what  resolute  and  iron  men 
Bonaparte  gathered  around  him.  Everything  that 
came  near  him  seemed  to  run  in  his  mould,  or  rather, 
perhaps,  he  would  confide  in  no  one  who  did  not  par- 
take .more  or  less  of  bis  character.  Some  as  much 
unlike  him  as  men  c^uld  well  be,  and  worthy  of  no 
regard,  he  had  around  him,  because  he  could  use  them, 
but  to  none  such  did  iie  trust  his  armies  or  commit 
the  fate  of  a  battle.  Those  whom  he  trusted  with 
his  fate  and  fortunes,  he  knew  by  stern  experience  to 
be  men  that  never  flinched  in  the  hour  of  peril,  and 
were  earth-fast  rocks  amid  the  tumult  of  a  battle- 
field. He  tried  every  man  before  he  committed  the 
success  of  his  great  plans  to  him.  Hank  and  fortune 
bought  no  places  of  trust  from  him.  He  promoted 
his  officers  on  the  field  of  the  slain,  and  gave  them 
titles  amid  the  dead  that  cumbered  the  ground  on 
which  they  had  proved  themselves  heroes  by  great 
deeds.  When  Bonaparte  rode  over  one  of  his  bloody, 
yet  victorious  battle-fields,  as  was  ever  his  custom 
after  the  conflict,  he  saw  from  the  spots  on  which  the 
dead  lay  piled  in  largest  heaps,  where  the  heat  ai. 
crisis  of  the  battle  had  been.  From  his  observatory 


MARSHAL    MACDONALD. 

he  had  watched  the  whole  progress  of  the  strife  and 
when  he  rode  over  the  plain  it  was  not  difficult  to  tell 
what  column  had  fought  bravest,  or  what  leader  had 
proved  himself  worthiest  of  confidence ;  and  on  the 
spot  where  they  earned  their  reward  he  gave  it,  and 
made  the  place  where  they  struggled  bravest  and 
suffered  most,  the  birth-place  of  their  renown.  This 
custom  of  his  furnished  the  greatest  of  all  incitements 
to  desperate  valour  in  battle.  Every  officer  knew  that 
the  glass  of  his  emperor  swept  the  field  where  he 
fought,  and  the  quick  eye  that  glanced  like  lightning 
over  every  object  was  constantly  on  him,  and  as  hia 
deeds  were,  so  would  his  honours  be.  This  strung 
the  energies  of  every  ambitious  man — and  Bonaparte 
would  have  none  others  to  lead  his  battalions — to 
their  utmost  tension.  What  wonder  is  it,  then,  that 
great  deeds  were  wrought,  and  Europe  stood  awe- 
struck before  enemies  that  seemed  never  to  dream  of 
defeat  ? 

Macdonald  was  one  of  those  stern  men  Bonaparte 
loved  to  have  in  his  army.  He  knew  what  Macdo- 
nald attempted  to  do  he  would  never  relinquish  till 
he  himself  fell,  or  his  men  fled.  There  was  as  much 
iron  and  steel  in  this  bold  Scotchman,  as  in  Bona- 
parte himself.  He  had  all  his  tenacity  and  invinci 
bility  without  his  genius. 

Macdonald  was  the  son  of  a  Scotchman,  of  the 
family  of  Clanronald,  who  fought  under  the  standard 
of  Prince  Charles  Edward,  on  the  fatal  field  of  Cul- 
loden ;  and  after  its  disastrous  issue,  fled  to  France, 
and  settled  in  Sancerre.  There  the  subject  of  ting 
bketch  was  born,  in  November,  1765,  and  received 
the  name  of  Etienne  Jaques  Joseph  Alexandre  Mac- 
donald. He  belonged  to  the  army  before  the  revolu- 


244  HIS     EARLY     HISTORY 

tion,  and  during  its  progress  took  the  republican  side 
He  was  an  aid-de-camp  in  the  first  Republican  army 
that  advanced  on  the  Rhine  at  the  declaration  of  war, 
and  distinguished  himself  throughout  that  miserably 
conducted  campaign.  At  the  battle  *>f  Jemappe,  he 
fought  with  such  bravery  that  he  was  promoted  to 
the  rank  of  Colonel.  Engaged  in  almost  every  battle 
in  the  Low  Countries,  he  was  appointed  to  lead  the 
van  of  the  army  at  the  North ;  and  in  the  winter 
campaign  of  1794,  performed  one  of  those  deeds  of 
daring  for  which  he  was  afterwards  so  distinguished. 
The  batteries  of  ISTirneguen  swept  the  river  Waal,  so 
that  it  was  deemed  impossible  to  cross  it  with  any 
considerable  force,  yet  Macdonald  led  his  column 
over  the  smooth  ice  and  through  the  deadly  fire 
that  devoured  his  ranks,  and  routed  the  enemy.  For 
this  gallant  deed  he  was  made  general  of  brigade. 
In  1796,  at  Cologne  and  Dusseldorf,  he  commanded 
the  army,  and  soon  after  was  sent  by  the  Convention 
into  Italy. 

After  the  conquest  of  the  Papal  states,  in  1798,  he 
was  made  governor  of  Rome.  In  his  new  capacity, 
lie  exhibited  other  talents  than  those  of  a  military 
leader.  He  could  scarcely  have  been  placed  in  a 
more  trying  position  than  the  one  he  occupied  as 
governor  of  the  Eternal  City.  The  two  factions — one 
of  which  acted  with  the  revolution,  and  the  other 
against  it — kept  the  population  in  a  perpetual  ferment 
Insurrections  and  popular  outbreaks  occurred  almost 
every  day,  while  the  indignity  that  had  been  offered 
the  Pope,  and  the  indiscriminate  pillage  of  the  Vati- 
can, palaces,  and  churches,  exasperated  the  upper 
classes  beyond  control,  and  it  required  a  strong  arm 
to  maintain  French  authority  in  the  city.  Macdo- 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  24:5 

iiald  did  as  well,  perhaps,  as  any  one  could  have  done 
in  his  circumstances. 

An  insurrection  soon  after  having  broken  otit  at 
Frosinone,  which  he  found  himself  unable  to  quell, 
except  with  the  destruction  of  a  large  number  of  his 
own  men ;  he  ordered  the  houses  to  be  fired  and  the 
insurgents  massacred.  Mack  at  length  drove  him 
from  Rome,  but  being  in  turn  compelled  to  evacuate 
it,  Macdonald  re-entered,  and  finally  left  it  to  conquer 
Naples. 

The  entrance  of  the  French  into  the  latter  city  was 
Dver  heaps  of  corpses,  for  the  inhabitants  of  every 
class  down  to  the  miserable  lazzaroni  fought  with  the 
desperation  of  madmen  for  their  homes.  And  even 
after  the  army  had  entered  within  the  walls,  it  could 
advance  only  by  blowing  up  the  houses ;  and  finally 
conquered  by  obtaining,  through  the  treachery  of  a 
Neapolitan,  the  castle  of  St.  Elmo,  from  whence  the 
artillery  could  be  brought  to  bear  on  the  town  below. 
The  famous  Parthenopeian  Republic  was  immediately 
established,  and  Macdonald  entrusted  with  the  su- 
preme command.  Mack,  who  had  charge  of  the 
army  opposed  to  the  French,  was  an  inefficient  man. 
His  forces  outnumbered  those  of  the  French  three  to 
one,  but  he  lacked  the  nerve  to  contend  with  Bona- 
parte's generals.  When  Nelson  heard  of  his  appoint- 
ment as  commander-in-chief  of  the  forces  in  the  south 
of  Italy,  he  remarked,  "  Mack  cannot  travel  without 
five  carriages.  I  have  formed  my  opinion  of  him." 

That  was  the  great  difficulty  with  many  of  the 
continental  generals — they  could  not  submit  to  the 
hardships  and  exposures  and  constant  toil  that  such 
msn  as  Ney  and  Macdonald  and  Napoleon  cheerfully 

encountered.      But    another  man  soon  led  his  armies 
14* 


246  BATTLE     OF     TBEBBIA. 

into  southern  Italy.  The  invincible  Suwarrow  who 
had  never  yet  turned  his  back  on  a  human  foe,  began 
to  sweep  down  through  the  peninsula.  Macdonald 
could  not  contend  with  the  superior  force  now  brought 
against  him,  and  commenced  a  masterly  retreat  toward 
Tuscany,  which  tested  his  skill  as  a  general  more  than 
any  other  act  of  his  life. 

Still  advancing  north,  he  came  upon  Suwarrow  at 
the  river  Trebbia,  and  there  for  three  days  endured 
the  shock  of  the  entire  Russian  army.  After  the  first 
day's  battle,  the  two  armies  bivouacked  on  opposite 
Bides  of  the  river,  to  wait  for  the  morning  light  to  re- 
new the  combat. 

At  6  o'clock  the  Russians  advanced  to  the  attack. 
Macdonald,  finding  that  he  must  fight,  though  anxious 
to  delay  till  Moreau  could  come  up,  poured  his  bat- 
talions across  the  river,  but  after  a  most  desperate 
struggle,  was  compelled  to  retire  again  over  the  Treb- 
bia. The  quiet  stream  swept  with  a  gentle  murmur 
between  the  foemen,  while  the  watch-fires  of  both 
camps  were  reflected  from  its  placid  bosom.  All  was 
still  as  the  moonlight  sleeping  there,  when  three 
French  battalions,  mistaking  their  orders,  advanced 
into  the  river,  and  began  to  fire  on  the  Russian  out- 
posts. Both  armies  taken  by  surprise,  supposing  a 
grand  attack  was  to  be  made,  rushed  to  arms.  In  a 
moment  all  was  hurry  and  confusion.  The  artillery 
on  either  bank  opened  their  fire — the  cavalry  plunged 
headlong  into  the  water — the  infantry  followed  after — 
and  there,  in  inextricable  confusion,  the  two  armies,  up 
to  their  middle  in  water,  fought  by  moonlight,  while 
the  closely  advanced  cannon  played  on  the  dark  masses 
of  friend  and  foe  with  dreadful  effect. 

This  useless  slaughter  at  length  be?ng  stopped,  the 


MAKSHAL     MACDONALD.  241 

two  weary  hosts  again  lay  down  to  rest  on  the  shore, 
BO  near,  that  each  could  almost  hear  the  breathing 
of  the  other.  Early  in  the  morning  they  prepared 
for  the  third  and  last  day's  battle,  and  at  ten  o'clock 
Macdonald  advanced  to  the  attack.  His  men,  up  to 
their  arm-pits  in  water,  moved  steadily  across  the  river 
in  the  face  of  a  murderous  fire.  The  battle  was  fiercely 
contested,  but  the  French  were  finally  driven  again  over 
the  Trebbia  with  great  loss,  and  next  day  were  compell- 
ed to  retreat. 

The  battle  of  Trebbia  was  one  of  the  severest  that 
had  yet  been  fought,  and  though  Macdonald  was 
blamed  for  his  tactics,  he  there  evinced  that  indomi- 
table courage  and  tenacity  which  afterwards  so  dis- 
tinguished him.  As  it  was,  had  Suwarrow  received 
no  reinforcements,  or  had  Macdonald  been  aided  to 
the  same  extent,  the  issue  of  it  would  doubtless  have 
been  different.  Nearly  thirty  thousand  men  had  fallen 
during  these  three  terrible  days.  The  courage,  the 
tenacity  and  firmness  of  the  troops  on  both  sides,  were 
worthy  of  that  field  on  which  nineteen  hundred  years 
before,  the  Romans  and  Carthagenians  had  battled  for 
Italy. 

In  the  revolution  of  the  18th  Brumaire,  which  over- 
threw the  Directory  and  made  Bonaparte  First  Con- 
sul, Macdonald  was  by  his  side,  and  with  Murat,  Lefe- 
bre,  Marmont,  Lannes  and  others,  passed  the  power  of 
France  over  into  his  hands. 

For  the  service  he  rendered  on  this  occasion,  Na- 
poleon appointed  him  to  the  command  of  the  army  in 
the  Orisons.  A  letter  from  him  to  General  Regnier, 
then  with  the  army  in  Egypt,  shews  his  exalted 
views  of  Napoleon.  In  an  extract,  he  says :  "  Since 
you  left,  we  have  been  compelled  to  lament  over  the 


248  QUARREL     WIT  II     NAPOLEON. 

eapriciousness  of  fortune,  and  have  been  defeated 
everywhere,  owing  to  the  impotence  of  the  old  tyran- 
nical Directory.  At  last  Bonaparte  appeared — upset 
the  audacious  government,  and  seizing  the  reins,  now 
directs  with  a  steady  hand  the  car  of  the  revolution 
to  that  goal  all  good  men  have  long  waited  to  see  it 
reach.  Undismayed  by  the  burden  laid  upon  him, 
this  wonderful  man  reforms  the  armies — calls  back  the 
proscribed  citizens — flings  open  the  prison  in  which 
innocence  has  pined — abolishes  the  old  revolutionary 
laws — restores  public  confidence — protects  industry- 
revives  commerce,  and  making  the  republic  triumphant 
by  his  arms,  places  it  in  that  high  rank  assigned  it  by 
Heaven." 

In  1802  he  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  Copenhagen, 
where  he  remained  a  year.  On  his  return  he  was 
appointed  grand  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honour.  But 
soon  after  he  incurred  the  displeasure  of  Bonaparte 
by  his  severe  condemnation  of  the  trial  and  sentence 
of  Moreau.  Macdonald  had  fought  beside  the  hero 
of  Hohenlinden — they  had  planned  and  counselled 
together,  and  he  felt  keenly  the  disgrace  inflicted  on 
his  old  companion  in  arms.  Fearless  in  court  as  he 
was  in  battle,  he  never  condescended  to  flatter,  nor 
refrained  from  expressing  his  indignation  against 
meanness  and  injustice.  His  words,  which  were  utter- 
ed without  disguise,  and  couched  in  the  plain,  blunt 
terms  of  a  soldier,  were  repeated  to  Napoleon,  who 
aftervarcLo  treated  him  with  marked  coolness.  Too 
proud  to  go  where  he  was  not  received  as  became 
his  rank,  and  equally  disdaining  to  make  any  efforts 
to  produce  a  reconciliation  when  lie  had  told  what  he 
considered  the  simple  truth,  he  kept  away  fr(  m  courj 
altogether. 


MARSttAL     MACDONALD. 

Bonaparte  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him,  and  let 
him  remain  inactive,  while  Europe  was  resounding 
with  the  great  deeds  of  the  Generals  that  were  lead- 
ins:  his  victorious  armies  over  the  Continent.  Mac- 

o 

donald  felt  this  keenly.  He  who  had  fought  so  man- 
fully the  bloody  battle  of  the  Trebbia,  performed  such 
prodigies  of  valour  in  Italy,  and  finally,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  world,  led  his  army  in  mid-winter 
over  the  Splugen  amid  hurricanes  of  snow  and  fall- 
ing avalanches ;  did  not  deserve  this  neglect  from  one 
whom  he  had  served  so  faithfully,  and  in  whose  hands 
he  had  helped  to  place  the  supreme  power  of  France. 
Bonaparte,  in  his  towering  and  unjust  pride,  allowed  a 
few  expressions — unjust,  it  is  true — but  springing  from 
the  very  excellences  of  that  character  which  made  him 
the  prop  of  his  throne,  to  outweigh  the  years  of  service 
he  had  rendered,  and  the  glorious  victories  he  had 
brought  to  his  standard. 

The  campaign  of  Austerlitz  with  its  "  Sun "  ol 
glory — Jena  and  its  victories — Eylau  and  its  car- 
nage and  doubtful  issue — Friedland  with  its  deeds 
of  renown  and  richly  bestowed  honours,  passed  by  and 
left  Macdonald  unnoticed  and  uncalled  for.  Thua 
years  of  glory  rolled  away.  But  in  1807,  Bonaparte, 
who  either  thought  that  he  had  sufficiently  punished 
him,  or  felt  that  he  could  dispense  no  longer  with  his 
powerful  aid,  gave  him  command  of  a  corps  under 
Eugene  Beauharnois.  He  advacced  into  Styria,  fought 
and  captured  the  Austrian  General,  Meerfeldt — 
helped  to  gain  the  victory  of  Raab,  and  soon  after- 
wards saved  Napoleon  and  the  Empire  at  Wagram, 
by  one  of  the  most  desperate  charges  recorded  in  the 
annals  of  war.  Created  Marshal  on  the  field  ot 
battle,  he  was  next  appointed  to  the  government  ot 


250         HIS     INJUSTICE     AND     INTEGRITY. 

Gratz,  where  he  exhibited  the  nobler  qualities  ol 
justice  and  mercy.  The  bold  denouncer  of  what  he 
deemed  injustice  in  his  Emperor  was  not  likely  to  com- 
mit it  himself.  By  the  severe  discipline  he  maintained 
among  the  troops — preventing  them  from  violating  the 
homes  and  property  of  the  inhabitants — and  by  the 
equity  and  moderation  with  which  he  administered  the 
government  entrusted  to  him,  he  so  gained  the  love 
and  respect  of  the  people,  that  on  his  departure  they 
made  him  a  present  of  100,000  francs,  or  nearly 
$20,000,  and  a  costly  box  of  jewels,  as  a  wedding 
gift  for  one  of  his  daughters.  But  he  nobly  refused 
them  both,  replying,  "  Gentlemen,  if  you  consider 
yourselves  under  any  obligation  to  me,  repay  it  by 
taking  care  of  the  three  hundred  sick  soldiers  I  am  com- 
pelled to  leave  with  you." 

Not  long  after  he  was  made  Duke  of  Tarentum, 
and  in  1810  was  appointed  to  command  the  army  of 
Augereau  in  Catalonia,  who  had  been  recalled.  Act- 
ing in  conjunction  with  Suchet  he  carried  on  for  a 
while  a  species  of  guerilla  warfare  for  which  he  was 
by  nature  little  fitted.  In  1812,  he  commanded  the 
tenth  corps  of  the  Grand  Army  in  its  victorious  march 
into  Russia,  and  was  one  of  the  surviving  few,  who, 
after  performing  prodigies  of  valour,  and  patiently  en- 
during unheard  of  sufferings  in  that  calamitous  re- 
treat ;  struggled  so  nobly  at  Bautzen,  and  Lutzen,  and 
Leipsic,  to  sustain  the  tottering  throne  of  Napoleon. 
He  never  faltered  in  his  attachment ;  nor  refused  his 
aid  till  Bonaparte's  abdication  and  exile  to  Elba. 
He  was  strongly  opposed  to  his  mad  attempts  to  re- 
lieve Paris,  which  ended  in  his  immediate  overthrow. 
He  declared  to  Berthier  that  the  Emperor  should  re- 
tire to  Lens  and  there  fall  back  on  Augereau,  am! 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  251 

choosing  out  a  field  where  he  could  make  the  best 
Btand,  give  the  enemy  battle.  "Then,"  he  said, 
"if  Providence  has  decreed  our  final  hour,  we  shall 
at  least  die  with  honour."  Unwavering  in  his  attach- 
ment to  the  last,  when  the  allies  had  determined  on 
the  Emperor's  abdication,  he  used  every  effort  to  ob- 
tain the  most  favourable  terms  for  him  and  his  family. 
This  generous  conduct,  so  unlike  what  Bonaparte 
might  have  expected  from  one  whom  he  had  treated  so 
unjustly,  affected  him  deeply.  He  saw  him  alone  at 
Fontainbleau,  and  in  their  private  interview  previous 
to  his  departure  for  Elba,  acknowledged  his  indebted- 
ness to  him,  expressed  his  high  regard  for  his  cha- 
racter, and  regretted  that  he  had  not  appreciated 
his  great  worth  sooner.  At  parting  he  wished  to  give 
him  some  memorial  of  his  esteem,  and  handing  him 
a  beautiful  Turkish  sabre,  presented  by  Ibrahim  Bey 
when  in  Egypt,  said,  "It  is  only  the  present  of  a  so]' 
dier  to  his  comrade." 

When  the  Bourbons  re-ascended  the  throne,  Mac- 
donald  was  made  a  Peer  of  France,  and  never  after 
broke  his  oath  of  allegiance.  Unlike  Murat,  and 
Ney,  and  Soult,  and  other  of  Napoleon's  generals, 
he  considered  his  solemn  oath  sacred,  and  though 
when  sent  to  repel  the  invader,  his  soldiers  deserted 
him  at  the  first  cry  of  "  Yive  1'Empereur,"  he  did 
not  follow  their  example,  but  making  his  escape 
hastened  to  Paris  to  defend  Louis.  After  the  final 
overthrow  of  Napoleon  at  Waterloo,  he  was  promoted 
from  one  post  of  honour  to  another,  till  he  was  made 
Governor  of  the  21st  Military  Division,  and  Majoi 
General  of  the  Royal  Guard.  He  visited  soon  after 
Scotland,  and  hunting  up  his  poor  relatives,  bestowed 
presents  upon  them,  and  finally,  on  the  overthrow 


252  PASSAGE    OF    THE     S  P  L  U  O  K  K  . 

and  abdication  of  Charles  X.,  gave  his  allegiance  to 
Louis  Philippe. 

This  brief  outline  of  his  history  gives  us  space  to 
speak  more  fully  of  the  three  great  acts  of  his  life. 
When  commanding  the  army  in  the  Orisons,  Mac- 
donald  was  ordered  by  Napoleon  to  pass  the  Spluger 
with  his  forces,  in  order  to  form  the  left  wing  of  his 
army  in  Italy.  This  was  in  the  Campaign  of  Italy, 
after  Bonaparte's  return  from  Egypt.  Though  no 
braver  or  bolder  man  than  Macdonald  ever  lived,  he 
felt  that  the  execution  of  the  First  Consul's  com- 
mands was  well  nigh  impossible,  and  sent  General 
Dumas  to  represent  to  him  the  hopelessness  of  such 
an  undertaking.  Bonaparte  heard  him  through,  and 
then  with  his  usual  recklessness  of  difficulties  re- 
plied, "I  will  make  no  change  in  my  dispositions. 
Return  quickly  and  tell  Macdonald  that  an  army  can 
always  pass  in  every  season  where  two  men  can 
place  their  feet."  Like  an  obedient  officer  he  imme- 
diately set  about  preparations  for  the  herculean  task 
before  him. 

PASSAGE     OF  THE   SPLTJGEN. 

THE  present  pass  over  this  mountain  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  the  one  which  Macdonald  and  hia 
fifteen  thousand  men  traversed.  There  is  now  a  car- 
riage way  across,  cut  in  sixteen  zig-zags  along  the 
breast  of  the  mountain.  But  the  road  he  was  com- 
pelled to  take  was  a  mere  bridle  path,  going  through 
the  gorge  of  the  Cardinel.  To  understand  some  of 
the  difficulties  that  beset  him  and  his  army,  imagine 
a  gloomy  defile  leading  up  to  the  height  of  six  tlwu- 
mnd  five  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
while  the  raging  of  an  Alpine  storm  and  the  rapid 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  253 

sweep  of  avalanches  across  it,  add  tenfold  horror  to 
the  wintry  scene.  First  comes  the  deep,  dark  defile 
called  the  Via  Mala,  made  by  the  Rhine,  here  a  mere 
rivulet,  and  overhung  by  mountains  often  three  thou- 
sand feet  high.  Along  the  precipices  that  stoop  ovei 
this  mad  torrent  the  path  is  cut  in  the  solid  rock — 
now  hugging  the  mountain  wall  like  a  mere  thread, 
and  now  shooting  in  a  single  arch  over  the  gorge 
that  sinks  three  hundred  feet  below.  Strangely  silent 
snow  peaks  pierce  the  heavens  in  every  direction, 
while  from  the  slender  bridges  that  spring  from  preci- 
pice to  precipice  over  the  turbulent  stream,  the  roar 
of  the  vexed  waters  can  scarcely  be  heard.  After 
leaving  this  defile  the  road  passes  through  the  valley 
of  Schams,  then  winding  up  the  pine-covered  clifi's  of 
La  Raffla,  strikes  on  to  the  bare  face  of  the  mountain — - 
going  sometimes  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees — and 
finally  reaches  the  naked  summit,  standing  bleak  and 
cold  in  the  wintry  heavens.  This  was  the  Splugen-pass 
over  which  Macdonald  was  commanded  to  lead  his 
army  of  15,000  men  in  mid-winter. 

It  was  on  the  20th  of  November  he  commenced  his 
preparations.  A  constant  succession  of  snow-storma 
had  filled  up  the  entire  path,  so  that  a  single  man  on 
foot  would  not  have  thought  of  making  the  attempt, 
But  when  Macdonald  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  a 
thing,  that  was  the  end  of  all  impossibilities.  The 
cannon  were  dismounted  and  placed  on  sleds,  to 
which  oxen  were  attached — the  ammunition  divided 
about  on  the  backs  of  mules,  while  every  soldier 
had  to  carry,  besides  his  usual  arms,  five  packets  of 
cartridges  and  five  days'  provisions.  The  guides  went 
in  advance,  and  stuck  down  long  black  poles  to 

indicate   the   course  of  the  path  beneath,  while  be 
15 


254  FIRST   DAY'S    ASCENT. 

hind  them  came  the  workmen  clearing  away  the 
enow,  and  behind  them  still,  the  mounted  dragoons, 
with  the  most  powerful  horses  of  the  army,  to  beat 
down  the  track.  The  first  company  had  advanced,  in 
this  manner,  nearly  half  way  to  the  summit,  and 
were  approaching  the  hospice,  when  a  low  moaning 
was  heard  among  the  hills,  like  the  voice  of  the  sea 
before  a  storm.  The  guides  understood  too  well  ita 
meaning,  and  gazed  on  each  other  in  alarm.  The 
ominous  sound  grew  louder  every  moment,  till  sud 
denly  the  fierce  Alpine  blast  swept  in  a  cloud  of  snow 
over  the  breast  of  the  mountain,  and  howled  like  an 
unchained  demon  through  the  gorge  below.  In  an  in- 
stant all  was  confusion,  and  blindness,  and  uncer- 
tainty. The  very  heavens  were  blotted  out,  and  the 
frightened  column  stood  and  listened  to  the  raving 
tempest,  that  threatened  to  lift  the  rock-rooted  pinea 
that  shrieked  above  them  from  their  places,  and  bring 
down  the  very  Alps  themselves.  But  suddenly 
another  still  more  alarming  sound  was  heard  amid 
the  storm — "an  avalanche!  an  avalanche!"  shrieked 
the  guides,  and  the  next  moment  an  awful  white  form 
came  leaping  down  the  mountain,  and  striking  the 
column  that  was  struggling  along  the  path,  passed 
straight  through  it  into  the  gulf  below,  carrying  thirty 
dragoons  and  their  horses  along  with  it  in  its  wild 
plunge.  The  black  forms  of  steeds,  and  their  riders, 
were  seen,  for  one  moment,  suspended  in  mid-heavens, 
and  in  the  next,  disappeared  among  the  ice  and  craga 
below.  The  head  of  the  column  immediately  pushed 
on  and  reached  the  hospice  in  safety,  while  the  rear, 
separated  from  it  by  the  avalanche,  and  struck  dumb 
by  this  sudden  apparition  crossing  their  path  with 
such  lightning-like  velocity,  and  bearing  to  such  » 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  25£ 

fearful  death  their  brave  comrades,  refused  to  proceed, 
and  turned  back  to  the  village  of  Splugen. 

For  three  days  the  storm  raged  amid  the  moun- 
tains, filling  the  heavens  with  snow,  and  hurling 
avalanches  into  the  path,  till  it  became  so  choked 
up  that  the  guides  declared  it  would  take  fifteen 
days  to  open  it  again.  But  fifteen  days  Macdonald 
ccnld  not  spare.  Independent  of  the  urgency  oi 
his  commands,  there  was  no  way  to  provision  his 
army  in  these  savage  solitudes,  and  he  must  pro- 
ceed. He  therefore  ordered  four  of  the  strongest 
oxen  that  could  be  found  to  be  led  in  advance  by  the 
best  guides.  Forty  peasants  followed  behind,  clear- 
ing away  and  beating  down  the  snow.  Two  com- 
panies of  sappers  came  after  to  give  still  greater  con- 
sistency to  the  track,  while  on  their  heels  marched 
the  remnant  of  the  company  of  the  dragoons,  part  oi 
which  had  been  borne  away  by  the  avalanche,  three 
days  before.  The  post  of  danger  was  given  them  at 
their  own  request.  They  presented  a  strangs  sight 
amid  those  Alpine  solitudes.  Those  oxen  with  their 
horns  just  peering  above  the  snow,  toiled  slowly  on, 
pushing  their  unwieldly  bodies  through  the  drifts, 
while  the  soldiers  up  to  their  arm-pits  struggled  be- 
hind. Not  a  drum  or  bugle  note  cheered  the  solitude, 
or  awoke  the  echoes  of  those  silent  peaks.  The 
footfall  gave  back  no  sound  in  the  soft  snow,  ani 
the  words  of  command  seemed  smothered  in  the  very 
atmosphere.  Silently,  noiselessly  the  vast  but  dis- 
ordered line  stretched  itself  upward,  with  naught 
to  break  the  deep  stillness  of  the  wintry  noon,  save 
the  fierce  pantings  of  the  horses  and  animals,  as  with 
reeking  sides  they  strained  up  the  ascent. 

This  day  and  the  next  being  clear  and  frosty,  the 


SJ56  THIRD   DAY'S    A.SCKNT. 

separate  columns  passed  in  safety,  with  the  exception 
of  those  who  sunk  in  their  footsteps  overcome  by  the 
cold.  The  successful  efforts  of  the  columns,  these 
two  days,  induced  Macdonald  to  march  all  of  the 
remaining  troops  over  the  next  dayj  and  so  order- 
ing the  whole  army  to  advance,  he  commenced,  on  Mie 
5th  of  December,  the  passage.  But  fresh  snow  had 
fallen  the  night  previous,  filling  up  the  entire  track, 
so  that  it  had  all  to  be  made  over  again.  The  guides, 
expecting  a  wind  and  avalanches  after  this  fresh  fall 
of  snow,  refused  to  go,  till  they  were  compelled  to  by 
Macdonald.  Breast  deep  the  army  waded  up  the 
difficult  and  desolate  path,  making  in  six  hours  but  six 
miles,  or  one  mile  <w  hour.  They  had  not  advanced 
far,  however,  when  they  came  upon  a  huge  block  of 
ice,  and  a  newly  fallen  avalanche,  that  entirely  filled 
up  the  way.  The  guides  halted  before  these  new 
obstacles  and  refused  to  proceed,  and  the  head  of  the 
column  wheeled  about  and  began  its  march  down  the 
mountain.  Macdonald  immediately  hastened  for- 
ward ;  and  placing  himself  at  the  head  of  his  men, 
walked  on  foot,  with  a  long  pole  in  his  hand  to  sound 
the  treacherous  mass  he  was  treading  upon,  and 
revived  the  drooping  spirits  of  the  soldiers  with  worda 
of  encouragement.  "  Soldiers,"  said  he,  "  your  des- 
tinies call  you  into  Italy;  advance  and  conquer  first 
the  mountain  and  the  snow — then  the  plains  and  tie 
armies."  Ashamed  to  .see  their  General  hazarding  his 
life  at  every  step  where  they  had  refused  to  go,  they 
returned  cheerfully  to  their  toil.  But  before  they 
could  effect  the  passage  the  voice  of  the  hurricane  waa 
'again  heard  on  its  march,  and  the  next  moment  a 
cloud  of  driving  snow  obliterated  every  thing  from 
view.  The  path  was  filled  up,  and  all  traces  of  ii 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  257 

swept  utterly  away.  Amid  the  screams  of  the  guides, 
the  confused  commands  of  the  officers,  and  the  howling 
of  the  storm,  there  came  at  intervals  the  rapid  thunder- 
crash  of  avalanches. 

Then  commenced  again  the  stern  struggle  of  the 
army  for  life.  The  foe  they  had  to  contend  with 
was  not  one  of  flesh  and  blood.  To  sword-cut, 
bayonet-thrust,  and  the  blaze  of  artillery,  the  strong 
Alpine  storm  was  alike  invulnerable.  On  the  serried 
column  and  straggling  line,  it  thundered  with  the 
same  reckless  power,  while  over  all,  the  drifted  snow 
lay  like  one  vast  winding-sheet.  "No  one  who  has 
not  seen  an  Alpine  storm,  can  imagine  the  fearful 
energy  with  which  it  rages  through  the  mountains. 
The  light  snow,  borne  aloft  on  its  bosom,  is  whirled 
and  scattered  like  an  ocean  of  mist  over  all  things. 
Such  a  storm  now  piled  around  them  the  drifts  which 
seemed  to  form  instantaneously,  as  by  the  touch  of  a 
magician's  wand.  All  was  mystery  and  darkness, 
gloom  and  affright.  The  storm  had  sounded  its  trumpet 
for  the  charge,  but  no  note  of  defiance  replied.  The 
heroes  of  so  many  battle-fields  stood  in  still  terror  be- 
fore this  new  and  mightier  foe.  Crowding  together, 
as  though  proximity  added  to  their  safety,  the  fright- 
ened soldiers  crouched  and  shivered  to  the  blast  that 
seemed  to  pierce  their  very  bones  with  its  chilling 
cold.  But  the  piercing  cold,  and  drifting  snow,  and 
raging  storm,  and  concealed  pitfalls,  were  not  enough 
to  complete  this  scene  of  terror.  Avalanches  fell  in 
rapid  succession  from  the  top  of  the  Splugen.  Scaling 
the  breast  of  the  mountain  with  a  single  leap,  they 
came  with  a  crash  on  the  shivering  column,  bearing 
it  away  to  the  destruction  that  waited  beneath.  The 
extreme  density  of  the  atmosphere,  filled  as  it  was 


258  FALL     OF     AVALANCHES. 

with  snow,  imparted  infinite  terror  to  these  mysteri 
ous  messengers  of  death,  as  they  came  down  the 
mountain  declivity.  A  low,  rumbling  sound  would 
be  heard  amid  the  pauses  of  the  storm ;  and  as  the 
next  shriek  of  the  blast  swept  by,  a  rushing  as  of  a 
counterblast  smote  the  ear;  and  before  the  thought 
had  time  to  change,  a  rolling,  leaping,  broken  masa 
of  snow  burst  through  the  thick  atmosphere,  and  the 
next  moment  plunged  with  the  sound  of  thunder,  far, 
far  below,  bearing  away  a  whole  company  of  soldiera 
to  its  deep,  dark  resting  place.  One  drummer  carried 
over  the  precipice,  fell  unhurt  to  the  bottom  of  the 
gulf,  and  crawling  out  from  the  mass  of  the  snow 
which  had  broken  his  fall,  began  to  beat  his  drum  for 
relief,  Deep  down,  amid  the  crushed  forms  of  ava- 
lanches, the  poor  fellow  stood,  and  for  a  whole  hour 
beat  the  rapid  strains  which  had  so  often  summoned 
his  companions  to  arms.  The  muffled  sound  came 
ringing  up  the  face  of  the  precipice,  the  most  touching 
appeal  that  could  be  made  to  a  soldier's  heart.  But  no 
hand  could  reach  him  there,  and  the  blows  grew  fainter 
and  fainter,  till  they  ceased  altogether,  and  the 
poor  drummer  lay  down  to  die.  He  had  beat- 
en his  last  reveille,  and  his  companions  passed 
mournfully  on,  leaving  the  Alpine  storm  to  sing  his 
dirge. 

On  the  evening  of  the  6th  of  December,  the  greater 
part  of  the  army  had  passed  the  mountains,  and  the 
van  had  pushed  on  as  far  as  Lake  Como.  From  the 
26th  of  November  to  the  6th  of  December,  or  nearly 
two  weeks,  had  Macdonald  been  engaged  in  this  per- 
ilous pass.  Nearly  two  hundred  men  had  perished  in 
the  undertaking,  and  as  many  more  mules  and  horses. 

One  can  never  in  imagination  see  that  long  strag 


MARSHAL    MACDONALD.  259 

glmg  line,  winding  itself  like  a  huge  anaconda  cvei 
the  lofty  snow-peak  of  the  Splugen,  with  the  indom- 
itable HacdoDald  feeling  his  way  in  front,  covered  with 
snow,  while  ever  and  anon  huge  avalanches  sweep 
by  him,  and  the  blinding  storm  covers  his  men  and 
the  path  from  his  sight,  and  hear  his  stern,  calm, 
clear  voice,  directing  the  way ; — without  feelings  of 
Bupreme  wonder.  There  is  nothing  like  it  in  modern 
history,  unless  it  be  Suwarrow's  passage  of  the  Glarus 
while  pressed  by  a  superior  enemy.  Bonaparte's  pas- 
sage over  the  St.  Bernard — so  world-renowned — was 
mere  child's  play  compared  to  it.  That  pass  was 
made  in  pleasant  weather,  with  nothing  but  the  rug- 
gedness  of  the  ascent  to  obstruct  his  progress.  Su- 
warrow,  on  the  contrary,  led  his  mighty  army  over 
the  Pragel,  breast-deep  in  snow,  with  the  enemy  on 
every  side  of  him,  mowing  down  his  ranks  without  re- 
sistance. Macdonald  had  no  enemy  to  contend  with 
but  nature — but  it  was  nature  alive  and  wild.  The  path 
by  which  he  conducted  his  army  over  the  Splugen  was 
nearly  as  bad  in  summer,  as  the  St.  Bernard  the  time 
Napoleon  crossed  it.  But  in  midwinter  to  make  a  path, 
and  lead  an  army  of  fifteen  thousand  men  through 
hurricanes  and  avalanches,  where  the  foot  of  the  cha- 
mois scarce  dared  to  tread,  was  an  undertaking  from 
which  even  Bonaparte  himself  might  have  shrunk. 
And  Napoleon  never  uttered  a  greater  untruth,  than 
when  he  said,  "  The  passage  of  the  Splugen  presented, 
without  doubt,  some  difficulties,  but  winter  is  by  no 
means  the  season  of  the  year  in  which  such  operations 
are  conducted  with  the  most  difficulty ;  the  snow  ia 
then  firm,  the  weather  settled,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
fear  from  the  avalanches,  which  constitute  the  true 
and  only  danger  to  be  apprehended  in  the  Alps.' 


260       BATTLE  OF  MOUNT  TONAL. 

Bonaparte  would  have  us  suppose  that  no  avalanches 
fall  in  December,  and  that  the  passage  of  the  Splugen 
in  the  midst  of  hurricanes  of  snow,  was  executed  in 
"  settled  weather."  What  then  must  we  think  of  his 
passage  of  the  St.  Bernard,  in  summer  time,  without  a 
foe  to  molest  him.  or  an  avalanche  to  frighten  him. 

But  Macdonald's  difficulties  did  not  end  with  the 
passage  of  the  Splugen.  To  fulfil  the  orders  of  Na- 
poleon, to  penetrate  into  the  valley  of  the  Adige, 
he,  after  arriving  at  Lake  Como,  began  the  ascent 
of  the  Col  Apriga,  which  also  was  no  sooner  achieved, 
than  the  bleak  peak  of  Mount  Tonal  arose  before 
him.  A  mere  sheep-path  led  over  this  steep  moun- 
tain, and  the  army  was  compelled  to  toil  up  it  in 
single  file  through  the  deep  snow.  When  he  arrived 
at  the  summit,  which  was  a  small  flat,  about  fifty 
rods  across,  he  found  the  Austrians  there,  prepared  to 
dispute  the  passage  with  him.  This  narrow  flat 
lay  between  two  enormous  glaciers,  that  no  human 
foot  could  scale,  and  across  it  the  enemy  had  built 
three  entrenchments,  forming  a  triple  line,  and  com- 
posed chiefly  of  huge  blocks  of  ice,  cut  into  regular 
shapes,  and  fitted  to  each  other.  Behind  these  walls  D£ 
ice,  the  Austrians  lay  waiting  the  approach  of  the  ex- 
hausted French.  The  grenadiers  clambering  up  the 
slippery  path,  formed  in  column  and  advanced  with 
firm  step  on  the  strong  entrenchments.  A  sheet  ot 
fire  ran  along  their  sides,  strewing  the  rocks  with  the 
dead.  Pressing  on,  however,  they  carried  the  external 
palisades,  but  the  fire  here  becoming  so  destructive 
they  were  compelled  to  retreat,  and  brought  word  to 
Macdonald  that  the  entrenchments  could  not  be  forced 
Eight  days  after,  however,  he  ordered  a  fresh  columu 
under  Vandamme,  to  attempt  to  carry  them  by  assault 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  261 

Under  a  terrible  discharge  the  intrepid  column  moved 
up  to  the  icy  wall,  and  though  a  devouring  fire  mowed 
down  the  men,  so  fierce  was  the  onset,  that  the  two 
external  forts  were  carried.  But  the  fire  from  the  in- 
ner intrenchment,  and  from  a  blockhouse  that  com- 
manded the  position  of  the  French,  was  too  terrific  to 
withstand ;  and  after  bravely  struggling  against  such 
desperate  odds  they  were  compelled  to  retreat.  On 
the  snowy  summit  of  the  Tonal — among  the  glaciers, 
and  scattered  around  on  the  huge  blocks  of  ice,  lay 
the  brave  dead,  while  the  wintry  sun  flashed  mourn- 
fully down  on  the  bayonets  of  the  retreating  and 
wounded  column.  Nothing  daunted, — Macdonald  by 
a  circuitous  route  over  two  other  mountain  ridges,  at 
length  reached  the  Adige,  and  fulfilled  the  extraordi- 
nary commands  of  Napoleon. 

The  passage  of  Napoleon  over  the  St.  Bernard  was 
a  magnificent  feat,  but  the  passage  of  the  Splugen,  by 
Macdonald,  was  a  desperate  one.  One  was  attended 
with  difficulties  alone,  the  other  with  danger — one  was 
executed  in  safety,  the  other  with  the  loss  of  whole 
companies.  This  latter  fact  alone,  is  sufficient  to  prove 
which  was  the  most  difficult  and  dangerous.  Su- 
warrow  was  driven  up  his  pass  by  the  cannon  of  the 
French,  and  led  his  bleeding  thousands  over  the  snow, 
while  the  enemy's  muskets  were  continually  thinning 
his  defenceless  ranks.  Macdonald  led  his  column 
through  an  awful  gorge,  and  up  a  naked  Alpine  peak, 
when  the  tempest  was  raging,  and  the  snow  flying, 
find  the  avalanches  falling  in  all  the  terror  of  a  wintry 
hurricane.  Bonaparte  led  his  army  over  the  San 
Bernard,  in  the  delightful  month  of  summer,  when 
the  genial  sun  subdues  the  asperity  of  the  Alps ;  and 

without   an  enemy  to  molest   him.     Which   achieve- 
15* 


262  BATTLE     OF     WAGRAM. 

rnent  of  these  three  stands  lowest  in  the  scale,  it  is  net 
difficult  to  determine. 

BATTLl    OF   WAGRAM. 

But  it  is  at  Wagram  that  we  are  to  look  for  Mae- 
donald's  greatest  deed.  One  never  thinks  of  that  ter- 
rific battle,  without  feelings  of  the  profoundest  wonder 
at  his  desperate  charge,  that  then  and  there  saved 
Napoleon  and  the  Empire.  The  battle  of  Aspern 
had  proved  disastrous  to  the  French.  The  utmost 
efforts  of  Napoleon  could  not  wring  victory  from  the 
hands  of  the  Austrians.  Massena  had  stood  under  a 
tree  while  the  boughs  were  crashing  with  cannon  balls 
over  head,  and  fought  as  never  even  he  fought  before. 
The  brave  Lannes  had  been  mangled  by  a  cannon 
shot,  and  borne  away  while  the  victorious  guns  of  the 
enemy  were  still  playing  on  his  heroic,  but  flying 
column  ;  and  the  fragments  of  the  magnificent  army, 
that  had  in  the  morning  moved  from  the  banks  of  tho 
Danube  in  all  the  confidence  of  victory,  at  nightfall 
were  crowded  and  packed  in  the  little  island  of  Lo 
bau.  Rejecting  the  counsel  of  his  officers,  Bonaparte 
resolved  to  make  a  stand  here,  and  wait  for  reinforce- 
ments to  come  up.  No  where  does  his  exhaustless 
genius  show  itself  more  than  in  this  critical  period  of 
his  life.  He  revived  the  drooping  spirits  of  his  soldiers 
by  presents  from  his  own  hands,  and  visited  in  person 
the  sick  in  the  hospitals  ;  while  the  most  gigantic  plans 
at  the  same  time,  strung  his  vast  energies  to  their 
utmost  tension. 

From  the  latter  part  of  May  to  the  first  of  July,  he 
remained  cooped  up  in  this  little  island,  but  not  in- 
active. Tie  had  done  every  thing  that  could  be 
done  on  the  spot,  while  orders  had  been  sent  to  the 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  263 

different  armies  to  hasten  to  his  relief;  ai.d  never  was 
there  such  an  exhibition  of  the  skill  and  promptitude 
with  which  orders  had  been  issued  and  carried  out. 
At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  different  armies 
from  all  quarters  first  began  to  come  in,  and  before 
the  next  night  they  had  all  arrived.  First  with  music 
and  streaming  banners  appeared  the  columns  of  Ber- 
nadotte,  hastening  from  the  banks  of  the  Elbe,  carry- 
ing joy  to  the  desponding  hearts  of  Napoleon's  army. 
They  had  hardly  reached  the  field  before  the  stirring 
notes  of  the  bugle,  and  the  roll  of  drums  in  another 
quarter,  announced  the  approach  of  Vandamme 
from  the  provinces  on  the  Rhine.  Wrede  came 
next  from  the  banks  of  the  Lech,  with  his  strong 
Bavarians,  while  the  morning  sun  shone  on  Mac- 
donald's  victorious  troops,  rushing  down  from  Illyria 
and  the  Alpine  summits,  to  save  Bonaparte  and 
the  Empire.  As  the  bold  Scotchman  reined  his 
steed  up  beside  Napoleon,  and  pointed  back  to  his 
advancing  columns,  he  little  thought  that  two  days 
after  the  fate  of  Europe  was  to  turn  on  his  single 
will.  Scarcely  were  his  troops  arranged  in  their 
appointed  place,  before  the  brave  Marmont  appeared 
with  glittering  bayonets  and  waving  plumes,  from  the 
borders  of  Dalmatia.  Like  an  exhaustless  stream, 
the  magnificent  armies  kept  pouring  into  that  little 
isle;  while,  to  crown  the  whole,  Eugene  came  up  with 
his  veterans  from  the  plains  of  Hungary.  In  two 
days  they  had  all  assembled,  and  on  the  evening  of 
the  4th  of  July,  Napoleon  glanced  with  exultant  eye 
over  a  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  warriors,  crowded 
and  packed  into  the  small  space  of  two  miles  and 
a  half  in  breadth,  and  a  mile  and  a  half  in  length. 
Congratulations  were  exchanged  by  soldiers  who  last 


204  PASSAGE     OF     THE     IANUBE. 

saw  each  other  on  some  glorious  battle-field,  ami  uii! 
versal  joy  and  hope  spread  through  the  dense  ranks 
that  almost  touched  each  other. 

Bridges  had  been  constructed  to  fling  across  the 
channel ;  and,  during  that  evening,  were  brought  out 
from  their  places  of  concealment,  and  dragged  to  the 
bank.  In  ten  minutes  one  was  across,  and  fastened 
at  both  ends.  In  a  little  longer  time  two  others  were 
thrown  over,  and  made  firm  to  the  opposite  shore. 
Bonaparte  was  there,  walking  backwards  and  for- 
wards in  the  mud,  cheering  on  the  men,  and  accele- 
rating the  work,  which  was  driven  with  such  wonder- 
ful rapidity,  that  by  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  six 
bridges  were  finished  and  filled  with  the  marching 
columns.  He  had  constructed  two  bridges  lower  down 
the  river,  as  if  he  intended  to  cross  there  in  or- 
der to  distract  the  enemy  from  the  real  point  of 
danger.  On  these  the  Austrians  kept  up  an  incessant 
fire  of  artillery,  which  was  answered  by  the  French 
from  the  island  with  a  hundred  cannon,  lighting  up 
the  darkness  of  the  night  with  their  incessant  blaze. 
The  village  of  Erzerdorf  was  set  on  fire,  and  burned 
with  terrific  fierceness — for  a  tempest  arose  as  if  in 
harmony  with  the  scene,  and  blew  the  flames  into 
ten-fold  fury.  Dark  clouds  swept  the  midnight  hea- 
vens, as  if  gathering  for  a  contest  among  themselves 
— the  artillery  of  the  skies  was  heard  above  the  roar 
of  cannon,  and  the  bright  lightning  that  ever  and 
anon  rent  the  gloom,  blent  in  with  the  incessant 
flashes  below — while  blazing  bombs,  traversing  the 
air  in  every  direction,  wove  their  fiery  net-work 
ever  the  heavens,  making  the  night  wild  and  awful 
as  the  last  day  of  time,  hi  the  midst  of  this  scene  of 
terror,  Napcleon  remained  unmoved,  heedless  alike  of 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  265 

the  storm  of  the  elements  and  the  storm  of  the  artil 
lory ;  and  though  the  wind  shrieked  around  him,  and 
the  dark  Danube  rolled  its  turbulent  flood  at  his  feet, 
his  eye  watched  only  the  movements  of  his  rapid 
columns  over  the  bridges,  while  his  sharp  quick 
Toice  gave  redoubled  energy  to  every  effort.  The 
time — the  scene — the  immense  results  at  stake — all 
harmonized  with  his  stern  and  tempestuous  nature. 
His  perceptions  became  quicker — his  will  firmer,  and 
his  confidence  of  success  stronger.  By  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  infantry 
and  thirty  thousand  cavalry  stood  in  battle  array  on 
the  shores  of  the  Danube,  from  whence  a  month 
before  the  Austrians  had  driven  the  army  in  affright. 
The  clouds  had  vanished  with  the  night,  and  when 
the  glorious  sun  arose  over  the  hill-tops,  his  beama 
glanced  along  a  countless  array  of  helmets — and  nearly 
three  hundred  thousand  bayonets  glittered  in  his  light. 
It  was  a  glorious  spectacle :  those  two  mighty  armies 
standing  in  the  early  sunlight  amid  the  green  fieldsj 
while  the  air  sparkled  with  the  flashing  steel  that  rose 
like  a  forest  over  their  heads.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  surprise  of  the  Austrians,  when  they  saw  the  French 
legions  across  the  river,  and  ready  for  battle. 

The  battle,  the  first  day,  was  fierce  and  sanguinary, 
and  clearly  indicated  the  sternness  with  which  the 
field  would  be  contested.  Bonaparte,  at  the  outset, 
had  his  columns — converged  to  a  point — resting  at  one 
end  on  the  Danube,  and  radiating  off  into  the  field, 
like  the  spokes  •>£  a  wheel.  The  Austrians,  on  the 
contrary,  stood  in  a  vast  eemi-circle,  as  if  about  to 
enclose  and  swallow  up  their  enemy.  Maedonald's 
division  was  among  the  first  brought  into  the  engage 


266  SECOND   DAY'S   BATTLE. 

ment,  and  bravely  held  its  ground   during   the   day 
When  night  closed  the  scene  of  strife,  the  Austrian! 
had  gained  on  the  French.     They  nevertheless  sounded 
a  retreat,  while  the  exhausted  army  of  Napoleon  lay 
down  on  the  field  of  blood,  to  sleep. 

Early  in  the  morning,  the  Austrians  taking  advan 
tage  of  their  success  the  day  before,  commenced  the 
attack,  and  the  thunder  of  their  guns  at  day-light 
brought  Napoleon  into  his  saddle.  The  field  was 
again  alive  with  charging  squadrons,  and  covered 
with  the  smoke  of  battle.  From  day-light  till  nearly 
noon  the  conflict  raged  without  a  moment's  cessation. 
Every  where,  except  against  the  Austrians'  left, 
the  French  were  defeated.  From  the  steeples  of 
\rienna,  the  multitude  gazed  on  the  progress  of  the 
doubtful  fight,  till  they  heard  the  cheers  of  their  coun- 
trymen above  the  roar  of  cannon,  driving  the  flying 
enemy  before  them,  when  they  shouted  in  joy,  and 
believed  the  victory  gained.  But  Napoleon  galloped 
up,  and  restoring  order  in  the  disordered  lines,  ordered 
Davoust  to  make  a  circuit,  and  ascending  the  plateau 
of  Wagram,  carry  Neusiedel.  While  waiting  the  re- 
sult of  this  movement,  on  the  success  of  which  de- 
pended all  his  future  operations,  the  French  lines 
under  Napoleon's  .immediate  charge  were  exposed  to 
a  most  scourging  fire  from  the  enemy's  artillery,  which 
tore  them  into  fragments.  Unable  to  advance,  and 
too  distant  to  return  the  fire,  they  were  compelled  to 
stand,  as  idle  spectators,  and  see  the  cannon-shot 
plough  through  them.  Whole  dattalions,  driven 
frantic  by  this  inaction  in  the  midst  of  such  fearful 
carnage,  broke  and  fled.  But  every  thing  depended  on 
the  infantry  holding  firmly  their  position  till  the  effect 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  261 

of  Davoust's  assault  was  seen.  Yet,  nothing  but  Na- 
p<neon's  heroic  example  kept  them  steady.  Mounted 
on  his  milk-white  charger,  Euphrates,  given  him  by 
the  king  of  Persia,  he  slowly  rode  backward  and  for- 
ward  before  the  lines,  while  the  cannon  balls  whistled 
and  rattled  about  him — casting  ever  and  anon  an 
anxious  look  towards  tho  spot  where  Davoust  was 
expected  to  appear  with  his  fifty  thousand  brave  fol- 
lowers. For  a  whole  hour  he  thus  rode  in  front  of  his 
men,  and  though  they  expected  every  moment  to 
see  him  shattered  by  a  cannon  ball,  he  moved  un- 
scathed amid  the  storm.  At  length  Davoust  was  seen 
sweeping  over  the  plateau  of  "Wagram,  and  finally 
appeared  with  his  cannon  on  the  farther  side  of  Neu- 
siedel.  In  a  moment  the  plateau  was  covered  with 
smoke  as  he  opened  his  artillery  on  the  exposed  ranks 
of  the  enemy.  A  smile  lighted  up  Napoleon's  coun- 
tenance, and  the  brow  that  had  been  knit  like  iron 
during  the  deadly  strife  of  the  two  hours  before,  as 
word  was  constantly  brought  him  of  his  successive 
losses,  and  the  steady  progress  of  the  Austrians— 
cleared  up,  and  he  ordered  Macdonald,  with  eight 
battalions,  tc  march  straight  on  the  enemy's  centre,  and 
pierce  it. 


CHARGE   OF   MACDONALD. 

This  formed  the  crisis  of  the  battle,  and  no  sooner 
did  the  Archduke  see  the  movement  of  this  terrible 
column  of  eight  battalions,  composed  of  sixteen  thou- 
sand men,  upon  his  centre;  than  he  knew  that  the 
hour  of  Europe's  destiny  and  of  his  own  army  had 


268  MAODONALD'S    CHARGE. 

arrived.  He  immediately  doubled  the  lines  at  the 
threatened  point,  and  brought  up  the  reserve  cavalry, 
while  two  hundred  cannon  were  wheeled  around  the 
spot  on  which  such  destinies  hung,  and  opened  a 
steady  lire  on  the  approaching  column.  Macdonald 
ordered  a  hundred  cannon  to  precede  him,  and  answer 
the  Austrian  batteries,  that  swept  every  inch  of 
ground  like  a  storm  of  sleet.  The  cannoniers  mounted 
their  horses,  and  started  on  a  rapid  trot  with  their 
hundred  pieces,  approached  to  within  half  a  cannon 
shot,  and  then  opened  on  the  enemy's  ranks.  The 
column  marched  up  to  this  battery,  and  with  it,  at 
its  head,  belching  forth  fire  like  some  huge  monster, 
steadily  advanced.  The  Austrians  fell  back,  and 
closed  in  on  each  other,  knowing  that  the  final  strug- 
gle had  come.  At  this  crisis  of  the  battle,  nothing 
could  exceed  the  sublimity  and  terror  of  the  scene. 
The  whole  interest  of  the  armies  was  concentrated 
here,  where  the  incessant  and  rapid  roll  of  cannon  told 
how  desperate  was  the  conflict.  Still  Macdonald 
slowly  advanced,  though  his  numbers  were  diminish- 
ing, and  the  fierce  battery  at  his  head  was  gradually 
becoming  silent.  Enveloped  in  the  fire  of  its  antago- 
nist, the  guns  had  one  by  one  been  dismounted,  and  at 
the  distance  of  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  spot  where 
he  started  on  his  awful  mission,  Macdonald  found 
himself  without  a  protecting  battery,  and  the  centre 
still  unbroken.  Marching  over  the  wreck  of  his  guns, 
a  ad  pushing  the  naked  head  of  his  column  into  the 
:>pen  field,  and  into  the  devouring  cross  fire  of  the 
Austrian  artillery,  he  continued  to  advance.  The 
carnage  then  became  terrible.  At  every  discharge, 
the  head  of  that  column  disappeared,  as  if  suddenly 
enguiphed,  while  the  outer  ranks.  :>n  either  side,  melted 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  261. 

away  like  snow  wreaths  on  the  river's  brink.  No  pei> 
can  describe  the  intense  anxiety  with  which  Napoleon 
watched  its  progress.  On  just  such  a  charge  rested 
his  empire  at  Waterloo,  and  in  its  failure  his  doom 
was  sealed.  But  all  the  lion  in  Macdonald's  nature 
was  roused,  and  he  had  fully  resolved  to  execute  the 
dread  task  given  him  or  fall  on  the  field.  Still  ho 
towered  unhurt  amid  his  falling  guard,  and  with  his 
eye  fixed  steadily  on  the  enemy's  centre,  moved  stern- 
ly on.  At  the  close  and  fierce  discharges  of  these 
cross  batteries  on  its  mangled  head,  that  column  would 
sometimes  stop  and  stagger  back,  like  a  strong  ship 
when  smitten  by  a  wave.  The  next  moment  the 
drums  would  beat  their  hurried  charge,  and  the  calm, 
steady  voice  of  Macdonald  ring  back  through  his  ex- 
hausted ranks,  nerving  them  to  the  desperate  valour 
that  filled  his  own  spirit.  Never  before  was  such  a 
charge  made,  and  it  seemed  at  every  moment  that  the 
torn  and  mangled  mass  must  break  and  fly. 

The  Austrian  cannon  are  gradually  wheeled  around 
till  they  stretch  away  in  parallel  lines  like  two  walla 
of  fire  on  each  side  of  this  band  of  heroes,  and  hurl 
an  incessant  tempest  of  iron  against  their  bosoms. 
But  the  stern  warriors  close  in  and  fill  up  the  fright- 
ful gaps  made  at  every  discharge,  and  still  press  for- 
ward. Macdonald  has  communicated  his  own  settled 
purpose  to  conquer  or  die,  to  his  devoted  followers. 
There  13  no  excitement — no  enthusiasm  such  as  Mu« 
rat  was  wont  to  infuse  into  his  men  when  pouring  on 
the  foe  his  terrible  cavalry.  No  cries  of  "  Vive 
TEmperew*"  are  heard  along  the  lines ;  but  in  their 
place  is  an  unalterable  resolution  that  nothing  but 
annihilation  can  shake.  The  eyes  of  the  army  and 
the  world  are  on  them,  and  they  carry  Napoleon's 


'210  KOUT     OF     THE     ENEMY. 

fate  as  they  go.  But  human  strength  has  its  limits,  and 
human  effort  the  spot  where  it  ceases  forever.  No 
living  man  could  have  carried  that  column  to  where 
it  stands  but  the  indomitable  leader  at  its  head. 
But  now  he  halts  and  casts  his  eye  over  his  little 
surviving  band  that  stands  all  alone  in  the  midst  ol 
the  enemy.  He  looks  back  on  his  path,  and  as  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach,  he  sees  the  course  of  his  heroes 
by  the  black  swath  of  dead  men  that  stretches  like  a 
huge  serpent  over  the  plain.  Out  of  the  sixteen  thou- 
sand men  with  which  he  started  hut  fifteen  hundred 
are  left  beside  him.  Ten  out  of  every  eleven  have  fall- 
en, and  here  at  length  the  tired  hero  pauses,  and  sur- 
veys with  a  stern  and  anxious  eye  his  few  remaining 
followers.  The  heart  of  Napoleon  stops  beating  at 
the  sight,  and  well  it  may,  for  his  throne  is  where 
Macdonald  stands.  He  bears  the  Empire  on  his  sin- 
gle brave  heart — he  is  the  EMPIRE.  Shall  he  turn  at 
last,  and  sound  the  retreat?  The  fate  of  nations 
wavers  to  and  fro,  for,  like  a  speck  in  the  dis- 
tance, Macdonald  is  seen  still  to  pause,  while  the 
cannon  are  piling  the  dead  in  heaps  around  him. 
"  Will  he  turn  andjly  ?"  is  the  secret  and  agonizing 
question  Napoleon  puts  to  himself.  No !  he  is  wor- 
thy of  the  mighty  trust  committed  to  him.  The  Em- 
pire stands  or  falls  with  him,  but  shall  stand  while 
he  stands.  Looking  away  to  where  his  Emperor  sits, 
he  sees  the  dark  masses  of  the  Old  Guard  in  motion, 
and  the  shining  helmets  of  the  brave  cuirassiers 
sweeping  to  his  relief.  "  Forward,"  breaks  from  his 
iron  lips.  The  roll  of  drums  and  the  pealing  ol 
trumpets  answer  the  volley  that  smites  that  exhaust- 
ed column,  and  the  next  moment  it  is  seen  piercing 


MARSHAL     MACDONALU.  273 

the  Austrian  centre.  The  day  is  won — the  Empire 
saved — and  the  whole  Austrian  army  is  in  full  retreat. 

Such  was  the  battle  of  Wagram,  and  such  the 
charge  of  Macdonald.  I  know  of  nothing  equal  to  it, 
except  Key's  charge  at  Waterloo,  and  that  was  not 
equal,  because  it  failed. 

On  riding  over  the  victorious  field,  Bonaparte  came 
where  Macdonald  stood  amid  his  troops.  As  his  eye 
fell  on  the  calm  and  collected  hero,  he  stopped  and 
holding  out  his  hand  said,  "Shake  hands,  Macdo- 
nald — no  more  hatred  between  us — we  must  henceforth 
be  friends,  and  as  a  pledge  of  my  sincerity,  I  will 
send  your  marshal's  staff,  which  you  have  so  gloriously 
earned."  The  frankness  and  kindness  of  Napoleon 
effected  what  all  his  neglect  and  coldness  had  failed 
to  do — subdued  him.  Grasping  his  hand,  and  with 
a  voice  choked  with  emotion,  which  the  wildest  up- 
roar of  battle  could  never  agitate,  he  replied,  "  Ah ! 
sire,  with  us  it  is  henceforth  for  life  and  death."  No- 
ble man  !  kindness  could  overcome  him  in  a  moment. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  Bonaparte  felt  at  last  that  he 
had  not  known  Macdonald's  true  worth. 

The  last  great  conflict  in  which  he  was  engaged 
was  the  disastrous  battle  of  Leipsic.  For  two  daya 
he  fought  like  a  lion ;  and  when  all  hope  was  aban- 
doned, he  was  appointed  by  Napoleon  to  form,  with 
Lannistau  and  Poniatowski,  the  rear  guard  of  the 
retreating  array  while  it  passed  over  the  only  remain- 
ing bridge  of  Lindenau  across  the  Elsler.  Here  he 
stood  and  kept  the  allies  at  bay,  though  they  swarmed 
in  countless  multitudes  into  the  city,  making  it 
reel  under  their  wild  hurrahs,  as  they  drove  before 
them  the  scattered  remnants  of  the  rear  of  the  French 
army.  Carriages,  and  baggage-waggons,  and  char 


'272  D^PfifcCE     AT     LE1P8IC. 

iots,    and   artillery  came   thundering  by,  and  Macdo 
nald  hurried  them  over  the   bridge,  still  maintaining 
his  post  against  the  headlong  attacks  of  the  victorious 
enemy.      Slowly    the    confused    and    bleeding    mass 
streamed  over  the  crowded  bridge,  protected  from  the 
pursuing    enemy    by  the  steady  resistance  of  Macdo- 
nald.     The    allies   were   struck    with  astonishment  at 
this  firm  opposition  in  the  midst  of  defeat.     Half  the 
disasters    of  that   battle,  so  fatal  to  Napoleon,  would 
have  been  saved  but  for  the  rashness  of  a  single  cor- 
poral.    Bonaparte    had   ordered    a    mine    to    be  con- 
structed under  this  bridge,  which  was  to  be  fired  the 
moment  the  French  army  had  passed.     The  corporal 
to    whom    this  duty  had  been  entrusted,  hearing  the 
shouts   of  the    allies    as  they  rolled  like  the  sea  into 
Leipsic,  and  seeing  the  tiralleurs  amid  the  gardens  on 
the   side   near  the   river,    thought  the  army  had  all 
passed,    and   fired    the    train.     The  bridge  was  lifted 
into  the  air  with  a  sound  of  thunder,  and  fell  in  frag- 
ments   into   the    river.     It    is   said,  the  shriek  of  the 
French   soldiers    forming    the  rear  guard,  when  they 
saw  their  only  communication  with  the  army  cut  off, 
was   most    appalling.     They   broke  their    ranks    and 
rushed  to  the   bank  of  the  river,  stretching  out  their 
arms  towards  the  opposite  shore,  where  were  the  re- 
treating  columns   of  their   comrades.     Thousands,  in 
desperation,  plunged  into  the  stream,  most  of  whom 
perished,   while  the  whole  remaining  fifteen  thousand 
were  made  prisoners.     But  amid  the  melee  that  suc- 
ceeded  the   blowing  up   of  the   bridge,    two   officers 
were  seen  spurring  their  horses  through  the  dense  mul- 
titude   that  obstructed  their  way.     At  length,   after 
most  desperate  efforts,  they  reached  the  banks.     Aa 
they    galloped    up    to   the    shore    on   their    panting 


MARSHAL     MACDONALD.  273 

steeds  one  was  seen  to  be  Macdonald,  and  the  other 
the  brave  Poniatowski.  Casting  one  look  on  the 
chaos  of  an  army  that  struggled  towards  the  chasm, 
they  plunged  in.  Their  strong  chargers  stemmed  the 
torrent  manfully,  and  struck  the  opposite  shore.  With 
one  bold  spring,  Macdonald  cleared  the  bank,  and 
galloped  away.  But  the  brave  and  noble  Pole 
reached  it  only  to  die.  His  exhausted  steed  struggled 
nobly  to  ascend  the  bank,  but  failing,  fell  back 
on  his  wounded  rider,  and  both  perished  together  in  the 
flood. 

Of  Macdonald's  after-career  I  have  already  spo- 
ken. He  remained  firm  to  Napoleon  till  his  abdica- 
tion, and  then,  like  all  his  Generals  and  Marshals, 
gave  in  his  allegiance  to  the  Bourbon  throne.  His 
firmness  of  character,  which  rendered  him  in  all 
emergencies  so  decided  and  invincible,  prevented  him 
also  from  indulging  in  those  excesses  and  adopting 
those  ultra  principles  which  marred  the  character  of 
some  of  the  other  Marshals.  His  Scotch  education 
may  also  have  had  some  influence  over  him.  He  gavt 
his  adhesion  to  the  Bourbons  because  it  was  in  the 
compact  with  Napoleon,  and  because  under  the  ci*-- 
cumstances  he  considered  it  his  duty  to  do  so,  and  n<> 
after  excitement  could  shake  his  fidelity.  He  was  a 
thorough  Scotchman  in  his  fixedness  of  will.  Ha 
possessed  none  of  the  flexibility  of  the  French  charac- 
ter, and  but  little  of  its  enthusiasm.  Bold,  unwaver- 
ing, and  determined,  he  naturally  held  great  sway 
over  the  French  soldiers  Versatile  themselves,  they 
have  greater  confidence  in  a  character  the  reverse 
of  their  own,  and  will  follow  farther  an  iron-willed 
commander  than  one  possessing  nothing  but  enthu- 
siasm. In  a  sudden  charge  you  want  the  headlong 


271  HIS     CHARACTER. 

excitement,  but  in  the  steady  march  into  the  very  thcc 
of  destruction,  and  the  firm  res 'stance  in  the  midst  of 
carnage,  you  need  the  cool,  resolute  man. 

This  trait  in  Macdonald's  character  was  evinced  in 
his  conduct  when  sent  to  repel  the  invasion  of  Napo- 
leon who  was  drawing  all  hearts  after  him  in  liia 
return  from  exile.  He  repaired  to  Lyons  with  his 
army,  but  finding  that  his  troops  had  caught  the 
•ffild-fire  enthusiasm  that  was  carrying  everything 
before  it.  he  addressed  them  on  their  duty.  It  was 
to  no  purpose,  however,  for  no  sooner  did  they  seo 
the  advanced  guard  of  Napoleon's  small  company, 
and  hear  the  shout  of  "  Vive  VEmpereur"  with 
which  they  rent  the  air,  than  they  rushed  forward, 
shouting  "  Yive  1'Empereur "  in  return,  and  clasped 
their  old  comrades  to  their  bosoms.  Ney,  under 
similar  circumstances,  was  also  borne  away  by  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  and  flinging  his  hat  into 
the  air,  joined  in  the  wild  cry  that  shook  Europe  like 
an  earthquake,  and  summoned  a  continent  to  arms 
again,  and  made  kings  tremble  for  their  thrones.  But 
Macdonald  was  not  a  being  of  such  rapid  impulses. 
His  actions  were  the  result  of  reflection  rather  than  oi 
feeling.  True  to  his  recent  oath,  he  turned  from  his 
treacherous  troops  and  fled,  and  narrowly  escaped  be- 
ing taken  prisoner  by  them. 

He  was  a  conscientious  soldier — kind  in  peace — 
sparing  of  his  men  in  battle,  unless  sacrifice  was  im- 
periously demanded,  and  then  spilling  blood  like  wa- 
ter. Generous  and  open-hearted,  he  spoke  his  senti- 
ments freely,  and  abhorred  injustice  and  meanness. 
Dazzled,  as  all  the  world  was  by  the  splendid  talents 
and  brilliant  achievements  of  Bonaparte,  he  followed 


MAKSHAL     MACDONALD.  liTft 

him  with  a  constancy  and  devotion  that  evince  a  gen 
crous  and  noble  heart. 

To  a  watchfulness  that  never  slept,  and  a  spirit  that 
never  tired,  he  added  exertion  that  overcame  the  most 
insurmountable  difficulties,  and  baffled  the  plans  of 
all  his  enemies.  He  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of 
fatigue,  and  never  for  a  moment  indulged  in  that 
lassitude  which  is  so  epidemic  in  an  army,  and  so 
often  ensures  its  destruction.  One  cannot  put  his 
finger  on  the  spot  in  the  man's  life  where  he  acted  as 
if  he  felt  discouraged  or  ready  to  abandon  everything 
in  despair.  He  seemed  to  lack  enthusiasm,  but  had 
in  its  place  a  dogged  resolution  that  was  still  more 
resistless.  He  quietly  saw  what  was  to  be  done,  and 
then  commenced  doing  it  in  the  best  possible  manner, 
without  the  thought  of  failing  in  his  designs.  lie 
was  conscious  of  the  mighty  force  of  will,  and  knew 
by  experience  how  difficulties  vanish  by  pushing  against 
them. 

The  Duke  of  Tarentum,  as  Macdonald  was  called 
in  France,  had  no  sons.  He  had  three  daughters, 
two  of  whom  married  nobles,  and  the  third  a  riot 


DL 


MARSHAL   MOKTIEK. 

His  Early  Life —Character — Battle  of  Dirnstein — Burning  of  Moscow-. 
Blowing  up  of  the  Kremlin — His  Bravery  at  KrasnoL 

EDWARD- ADOLPHE-CAsiMEK-JosEPH-MoRTiER  was  bom 
for  a  soldier;  and  though  inferior  as  a  commander 
to  Soult,  Ney,  Massena,  St.  Cyr,  and  Suchet,  he 
nevertheless,  played  an  important  part  in  the  great 
Napoleonic  drama,  and  always  exhibited  the  qualities 
of  a  good  general. 

He  was  bom  in  Cambray,  in  1T68,  and  his  father 
being  a  rich  farmer,  was  able  to  give  him  a  good  edu- 
cation. Having  adopted  the  republican  side  in  the 
Revolution,  he  obtained  for  his  son,  when  twenty- 
three  years  of  age,  a  commission  in  a  regiment  oi 
cavalry.  Here,  by  his  knowledge  and  good  beha- 
viour, the  latter  was  soon  promoted  to  the  rank  of  adju- 
tant general.  On  the  Rhine,  under  Pichegru  and 
Moreau,  and  in  Switzerland  under  Massena,  he  fought 
bravely  in  his  place,  and  was  finally  promoted  to  gen- 
eral of  a  division. 

At  the  rupture  of  the  peace  of  Amiens,  he  was  or- 
dered to  march  into  Hanover  with  25,000  men, 
"With  scarcely  any  opposition,  he  occupied  the  cour 
try  and  acted  as  humanely  and  uprightly  as  his  orders 
allowed  him ;  and  on  the  assumption  of  the  imperial 
crown  by  Napoleon,  was  made  Marshal  of  the  Eui 


MARSHAL     MOKTiEK.  271 

pire.  He  was  in  the  campaigns  of  Austerlitz,  Jena, 
Eylau  and  Friedland — now  operating  with  the  main 
army,  and  now  left  by  himself  to  act  against  detached 
portions  of  the  enemy  ;  and  yet  in  all  circumstances, 
whether  victorious  or  defeated,  exhibiting  the  same 
heroism  and  loftiness  of  character. 

In  1808  he  was  placed  over  a  part  of  the  army  in 
Spain,  and  reduced  Badajos,  after  a  siege  of  fifty-five 
days  ;  but  his  career  in  the  Peninsula  was  marked  by 
no  brilliant  actions.  He  was  ever  found  humane, 
generous,  and  upright,  while  he  bore  a  part  in  that 
unhappy  war.  In  the  expedition  to  Russia,  he  com- 
manded the  Young  Guard;  but  was  not  called  to 
fight  in  any  great  battle  till  the  retreat  commenced. 
At  Dresden,  Lutzen,  and  around  Paris  in  that  last 
death -struggle  of  Napoleon,  he  bore  himself  worthy  oi 
his  renown  and  won  laurels  even  in  defeat. 

After  the  Abdication  of  Napoleon,  Louis  made  him 
Peer  of  France  and  Knight  of  St.  Louis,  and  be- 
stowed on  him  the  command  of  the  sixteenth  military 
division.  On  the  return  of  the  Emperor  from  Elba, 
Mortier  was  appointed  by  Louis,  over  the  army  of  the 
north  with  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  But  the  Prince, 
finding  he  could  not  secure  the  fidelity  of  the  troops, 
which  the  mere  mention  of  Napoleon's  name  was 
enough  to  shake ;  fled,  leaving  the  command  to  Mur- 
der, bidding  him  do  what  in  his  "  excellent,  judgment 
and  patriotism,''  he  might  think  best.  Mortier 
thought  it  best  to  join  his  former  Emperor  at  Paris. 
He  was  immediately  made  Peer,  and  appointed  in- 
spector of  the  frontiers  on  the  East  and  North.  Na- 
poleon designed  to  have  had  him  command  the 
Young  Guard  at  Waterloo ;  but  he  was  taken  sick 

and  compelled  to  remain  inactive  till  the  second  over 
16 


278     HIS     APPEARANCE     AND     OI1ARACTEK 

throw.  Louis  XVIII.,  on  his  restoration,  denied  him 
a  seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Peers ;  but  in  1816  he  was 
elected  member  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  made 
governor  of  the  fifteenth  military  division,  and  three 
vears  after  restored  to  the  Peerage. 

After  the  Revolution  of  1830,  he  gave  in  his  adhe- 
sion to  Louis  Philippe,  and  retained  his  rank. 

Mortier  was  a  noble-hearted  man,  of  great  valour, 
tempered  with  prudence,  and  of  incorruptible  integ* 
rity.  Napoleon  loved  some  of  his  generals  for  their 
ehivalric  devotion  to  him,  while  he  had  no  great  ad- 
miration for  their  characters — others  he  tolerated  be- 
cause they  were  useful ;  while  some  few  received  both 
his  respect  and  affection.  Mortier  belonged  to  the  latter 
class.  Napoleon  loved  the  frank,  unostentatious  and 
heroic  chieftain,  whom  he  had  proved  in  so  many  try- 
ing circumstances. 

Mortier  was  not  an  impulsive  man,  though  capable 
of  being  strongly  aroused.  His  excitement  steadied 
him,  and  in  the  moment  of  extreme  peril  he  was  as 
calm  as  if  in  perfect  safety.  He  would  manoeuvre  hia 
men  under  the  murderous  fire  of  a  hundred  can- 
non as  composedly  as  in  a  peaceful  review.  Hav- 
ing determined  what  he  ought  to  do,  he  seemed 
to  give  himself  no  concern  about  the  results  to  him- 
self. 

Tall  and  well  formed,  his  splendid  and  command- 
Ing  figure  moved  amid  the  chaos  of  a  battle-field 
like  some  ancient  hero,  while  his  cairn  and  powerful 
voice  would  restore  confidence  in  the  very  moment  of 
despair.  He  never  murmured  like  Bernadotte  and 
St.  Cyr,  as  the  trying  circumstances  in  which  the  Em- 
peror placed  him.  If  a  sacrifice  was  to  be  made,  and 
he  was  selected  as  the  victim  he  made  no  complaint ; 


MAK8HAL     MOKTIER.  279 

and  where  his  duty  as  a  commander  placed  him,  there 
he  stood  and  fought — apparently  caring  little  whether 
he  fell  or  was  saved  in  the  struggle. 

He  was  less  ambitious  and  vain  than  many  of  the 
GtLer  marshals,  and  was  governed  by  higher  principles 
of  action.  His  selfishness  was  not  constantly  inter- 
fering with  his  duty,  and  he  always  appears  calm  and 
self-sustained  amid  the  tumultuous  events  in  which 
his  life  was  passed.  Better  educated  than  many 
of  the  other  generals,  his  mind  and  -  feelings  were 
better  disciplined,  so  that  the  warrior  never  triumphed 
over  the  man.  His  very  chivalry,  sprung  not  so 
much  from  the  excitement  of  the  moment  as  from  his 
high  sense  of  honour,  which  was  a  part  of  his  na- 
ture. 

BATTLE    OF  DIENSTEDT. 

But  in  the  campaign  of  Austerlitz,  at  the  battle  of 
Dirnstein,  he  appears  in  his  most  chivalric  and  deter- 
mined character. 

After  the  capitulation  of  Ulm,  Napoleon  continued 
his  progress  along  the  Danube,  waiting  the  moment 
to  strike  a  mortal  blow  at  the  enemy.  The  Aus- 
trians,  hearing  of  the  surrender  of  Mack,  began  to 
retreat  towards  Vienna,  pressed  by  the  victorious 
French.  Napoleon  moved  down  the  right  bank  of  the 
Danube,  while  Hortier,  at  the  head  of  twenty  tho-i- 
eand  men,  was  ordered  to  keep  nearly  parallel  on  the 
left  shore.  Murat,  with  the  advanced  guard,  pressed 
with  his  accustomed  audacity,  towards  Vienna.  In 
the  mean  time,  the  Kussian  allies,  finding  they  could 
not  save  the  capital,  crossed  over  the  Danube  to 
the  left  shore,  to  escape  the  pursuit  of  Napoleon, 
and  eft'ect  a  junction  with  reinforcements  that  werr 


280  COMBAT     OF     DIKN8TEIN. 

coming  up.  Mortier  was  aware  of  this,  and  pressed 
eagerly  forward  to  intercept  their  march  towards 
Moravia. 

As  you  pass  from  Dirnstein  to  Stein,  the  only  road 
winds  along  the  Danube,  and  between  it  and  a  range 
of  rocky  hills,  forming  a  deep  and  narrow  defile. 
Mortier  was  at  the  former  place,  hastening  the  march 
of  his  columns ;  and  eager  to  advance,  pushed  for- 
ward with  only  the  single  division  of  Gazan,  leaving 
uiders  for  the  army  to  follow  close  in  the  rear.  Pass- 
ing through  this  defile,  he  approached  Stein  at  day- 
break, and  found  the  rear  guard  of  the  Russian  army 
posted  on  heights  in  front  of  the  town,  sustained  by 
powerful  batteries,  which  swept  the  road  along  which 
he  was  marching.  Notwithstanding  his  inferiority  of 
numbers  and  the  murderous  fire  he  should  be  forced  to 
encounter,  he  resolved  immediately  to  attack  the  ene- 
my's position. 

As  the  broad  daylight  of  a  November  morning 
spread  over  the  Danube,  he  opened  his  fire  on  them, 
and  rushed  to  the  assault.  In  a  short  time,  the  ac- 
tion became  desperate,  and  the  grenadiers  on  both 
sides  could  almost  touch  each  other  in  the  close  en- 
counter. The  Russian  troops  came  pouring  back  to 
sustain  the  rear-guard,  while  the  French  advanced 
with  rapid  step  along  the  road  to  aid  their  compan- 
ions. With  headlong  courage  on  the  one  side,  and 
oteady  firmness  on  the  other,  the  struggle  grew  hotter 
every  moment.  Neither  would  yield,  and  Moitier 
stood  hour  after  hour,  amid  the  wasting  storm;  till 
at  length  he  began  to  grow  anxious  for  the  issue, 
and  at  eleven  o'clock,  to  hurry  up  his  troops,  gal- 
loped back  to  Dirnstein.  Spurring  furiously  along 
the  defile,  ho  came  up  to  Dupont's  division-— a  little 


MARSHAL     MOKTIER.  28) 

beyond  the  farther  entrance — and  urged  him  to 
redouble  his  speed.  Then,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse, 
he  again  hastened  back  to  the  scene  of  strife.  But 
what  was  his  astonishment,  on  emerging  from  the 
road,  to  behold  a  Russian  army  issuing  from  the 
tills,  and  marching  straight  for  its  entrance.  Doc- 
toroff,  with  his  whole  division,  had  made  a  circuitous 
inarch  during  the  combat ;  and,  cutting  off  Mortier's 
retreat,  was  about  to  take  possession  of  the  defile.  As 
the  Marshal  left  the  main  road  to  escape  being  taken 
prisoner  himself,  and  wound  along  the  hill-sides,  and 
Baw  the  dense  masses  pouring  silently  into  that  nar- 
row pass,  his  heart  for  a  moment  stopped  beating; 
for  his  own  doom  and  that  of  his  brave  troops,  seemed 
to  be  sealed.  Crushed  between  the  two  armies,  there 
was  no  hope  for  him,  unless  Dupont  came  to  his 
relief.  The  morning  that  had  dawned  so  brightly 
upon  him,  had  suddenly  become  black  as  midnight. 
But  his  resolution  was  immediately  taken.  There 
was  but  one  course  left  for  him,  unless  he  intended 
to  surrender ;  and  that  was,  to  march  back,  and  en- 
deavour to  cut  his  way  through  to  his  army. 

Behold  that  single  division  pressed  in  front  by  the 
whole  Russian  army,  and  cut  off  in  the  rear,  slowly 
retiring  towards  that  silent  gorge.  Battling  back 
the  host  that  pressed  after  him,  and  sent  their  vollies 
of  grape-shot  through  his  torn  ranks ;  Mortier  formed 
his  men  into  a  solid  column,  and  without  a  drum 
or  trumpet  note  to  cheer  them  on,  moved  with  a  firm 
step  into  the  dark  entrance,  resolved  to  cut  his  way 
through,  or  die  in  the  effort.  But  a  sight,  dread  enough 
to  appal  the  stoutest  heart,  met  his  gaze  as  he  looked 
along  the  narrow  strip  of  road  between  the  rocks  and 

the  Danube.     As  far  as  the  eye  coul  I  see,  there  wat 
16* 


282  COMBAT     IN    THE     DEFILE. 

nothing  but  dense  battalions  of  the  enemy  in  order 
of  battle.  Without  shrinking,  however,  the  steady 
column  moved  with  fixed  bayonets  into  the  living 
mass.  A  deadly  fire  received  them,  and  the  carnage 
at  once  became  dreadful.  With  the  cannon  thunder- 
ing on  their  rear,  and  burying  their  fiery  loads  in  their 
ranks — swept  in  front  by  incessant  discharges  of  mus- 
ketry— trampled  under  foot  by  the  cavalry,  and  crushed 
between  two  armies,  the  escape  of  that  brave  division 
seemed  utterly  hopeless.  Indeed,  the  work  of  anni- 
hilation had  begun  with  frightful  rapidity.  Mortier, 
after  the  most  desperate  fighting,  had  pierced  but  a 
little  way  into  the  pass,  and  hope  grew  fainter  every 
moment,  as  he  surveyed  his  thinned  and  wasting  ranks, 
when  the  thunder  of  cannon  at  the  farther  extremity 
sent  a  thrill  of  joy  through  his  heart.  No  cannon  shot 
before  ever  carried  such  hope  to  his  bosom,  for  he 
knew  that  Dupont  was  charging  along  that  defile  to 
his  rescue.  The  Russians  immediately  faced  this  new 
foe  also,  and  then  commenced  the  complicated  strife 
of  four  armies  fighting  in  the  form  of  one  long  pro- 
tracted column — Mortier  hemmed  in  between  two 
Russian  armies,  and  Doctoroif  between  two  French 
ones.  But  Mortier  was  naturally  the  first  to  go  down 
in  this  unequal  strife.  Combating  all  the  morning 
against  overwhelming  numbers,  and  struggling  all 
the  afternoon  in  a  deep  ravine,  crushed  between  two 
armies,  his  noble  division  had  sunk  away  till  nothing 
but  the  mutilated  fragments  remained;  and  now,  as 
twilight  deepened  over  the  Danube,  its  last  hour 
Beemed  striking.  But  perceiving  that  the  fire  of  Du- 
pont approached  steadily  nearer,  he  cheered  on  his  men 
to  another,  and  still  another  effort.  Under  the  light 
of  the  stars,  that  now  and  then  twinkled  through  the 


MARSHAL    M  O  IJ  T  I  E  R  .  283 

volumes  of  smoke  that  curtained  in  the  armies,  and 
by  the  blaze  of  the  artillery,  the  work  of  death  went 
on — while  an  old  castle,  in  which  Richard  Cceur  de 
Li^n  once  lay  imprisoned,  stood  on  the  hills  above, 
and  looked  sternly  down  on  the  strife.  All  along  that 
gorge  was  one  incessant  thunder-peal  of  artillery,  to 
which  the  blaze  of  musketry  was  as  the  lightning's 
flash.  Amid  the  carnage  that  wasted  around  him, 
Morlier  towered  like  a  pillar  of  fire  before  his  men,  as 
they  closed  sternly  behind  him.  Nearly  three-fourths 
of  his  whole  division  had  fallen  in  this  Thermopylae, 
and  nothing  but  its  skeleton  was  left  standing.  Still  he 
would  not  yield,  but  rousing  his  men  by  his  words 
and  example,  cleared  a  terrible  path  through  the 
enemy  with  his  sword.  With  his  majestic  form  rising 
above  the  throng  that  tossed  like  a  wreck  on  a  strong 
current  about  him,  he  was  visible  to  all  his  men. 
Sometimes  he  would  be  seen  completely  enveloped  by 
the  Russian  grenadiers,  while  his  dripping  sabre  swept 
in  rapid  circles  round  his  head,  drinking  the  life  of 
some  poor  wretch  with  every  blow,  as  he  moved 
steadily  on  in  the  lane  he  made  for  himself.  Parry- 
ing sword  cut  and  bayonet  thrust,  he  trod  amid  this 
chaos  and  death  as  if  above  the  power  of  fate.  With 
friends  and  foes  falling  like  autumn  leaves  around 
him,  he  still  remained  untouched ;  and  it  was  owing  to 
his  amazing  strength  alone,  and  the  skill  and  power 
with  which  he  wielded  his  sabre,  that  he  escaped  death. 
His  strokes  fell  like  lightning  on  every  side,  and  under 
them  the  strongest  grenadier  bent  like  a  smitten  reed. 
Struck  with  admiration  at  his  gallantry,  and  thinking 
all  was  lost,  his  officers  besought  him  to  step  into  a 
bark  they  saw  moored  to  the  shore  and  escape.  "No," 


284  THE     DEFILE     18     FOKCED 

said  he,  in  the  spirit  of  true  heroism,  "  keep  that  for 
the"  wounded.  He  who  has  the  honour  to  command 
such  brave  soldiers,  should  think  himself  happy 
to  die  with  them.  We  have  still  two  guns  left,  and 
a  few  boxes  of  grape-shot — we  are  almost  through. 
Close  up  the  ra/nks  for  a  last  effort"  And  they  did 
close  up,  and  move  intrepidly  into  the  fire.  But  the 
last  of  the  ammunition  was  soon  gone,  and  then  nothing 
was  left  but  the  bayonet.  But  just  then  a  cheer  burst 
on  their  ears  over  the  roar  of  battle — the  cheer  of  ap- 
proaching deliverance,  and  they  answered  it.  That 
shout  was  like  life  to  the  dead,  and  that  torn  and 
mangled  remnant  of  a  column  closed  up  for  a  final 
charge.  The  Russians  flew  up  a  side  valley  before 
the  onset ;  and  with  the  shout,  "  France,  France, 
you  have  saved  us !"  that  weary  but  heroic  band 
rushed  into  the  arms  of  their  deliverers.  A  loud  hur- 
rah rent  the  air,  and  the  bloody  conflict  was  done. 
Nearly  six  thousand  men  lay  piled  in  ghastly  heaps 
along  the  road,  while  broken  muskets  and  twisted 
bayonets,  scattered  here  and  there,  showed  how  close 
and  fierce  the  struggle  had  been. 

The  deep  and  solemn  silence  that  succeeded  this 
uproar,  was  broken  only  by  the  groans  of  the  wounded, 
or  the  sullen  murmur  of  the  Danube,  that  rolled  its 
bright  waters  along  as  calmly  as  if  no  deadly  strife 
had  stained  its  banks  with  blocd.  The  smoke  of 
battle,  which  had  rolled  so  fiercely  over  the  scene, 
now  hung  above  the  river,  or  lay  along  the  hill-sides 
like  thin  vapour,  calm  and  tranquil ;  while  nature 
breathed  long  and  peacefully. 

Mort.ier  had  been  out-generalled,  but  not  conquered ; 
and  his  bearing  on  this  occasion  stamped  him  as  a  true 
hero.  The  decision  to  cut  his  way  through  the  enemy 


MARSHAL      MORTIEK.  285 

or  perish — the  personal  courage  he  exhibited,  and  the 
noble  resolution  to  fall  amid  his  brave  followers,  when 
all  hope  seemed  lost,  exhibit  not  only  the  greatness  of 
the  warrior,  but  the  nobleness  of  the  man. 

His  career,  as  has  been  remarked,  in  Spain,  was  not 
a  brilliant  one ;  but  he  appears  before  us  again  in  his 
true  character  in  the  expedition  to  Russia.  The 
honourable  post  of  commander  of  the  Young  Guard 
was  given  to  him,  and  his  place  was  near  the  Em- 
peror's person.  He  took  no  active  parts  in  the  great 
combats  through  which  the  Grand  Army  passed  to 
Moscow,  for  Napoleon  was  sparing  both  of  the  Young 
and  Old  Guard,  and  would  not  allow  them  to  be  en- 
gaged. At  Borodino,  Key  and  Murat,  in  the  midst  of 
the  conflict,  sent  frequently  to  Napoleon  for  its  aid, 
and  though  it  marched  to  the  margin  of  the  battle, 
ready  to  pour  its  massive  columns  on  the  enemy  the 
moment  the  French  should  yield,  it  remained  merely  a 
spectator  of  the  fight. 

As  the  army  approached  Moscow,  Murat  and  Mor- 
tier  were  ordered  to  advance  on  the  city.  They  march- 
ed for  two  days  with  nothing  to  eat  but  bruised  wheat 
and  horse-flesh,  and  at  length  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
enemy  drawn  up  for  battle  in  a  strong  position.  Mor- 
tier  remonstrated  against  an  attack  as  hopeless  and 
useless ;  but  Murat,  with  his  accustomed  impetuosity, 
ordered  a  charge,  and  two  thousand  of  that  reserve 
of  which  Napoleon  had  been  so  sparing,  was  left  on  the 
field.  Mortier  immediately  wrote  to  the  Emperor,  de 
nouncing  Murat,  and  declaring  he  would  not  serve 
under  him. 

At  length  Moscow,  with  its  domes,  and  towers,  and 
palaces,  appeared  in  sight;  and  Napoleon,  who  had 
j Mned  the  advanced  guard,  gazed  long  and  thought- 


JJ8()  ENTRANCE     TO     MOSCOW. 

fully  on  that  goal  of  his  wishes.  Murat  -went  for- 
ward and  entered  the  gates  with  his  splendid  cav- 
alry; but  as  he  passed  through  the  streets,  he  was 
struck  by  the  solitude  that  surrounded  him.  Nothing 
was  heard  but  the  heavy  tramp  of  his  squadrons  as 
he  passed  along,  for  a  deserted  and  abandoned  city 
was  the  meagre  prize  for  which  such  unparalleled 
efforts  had  been  made.  As  night  drew  its  curtain 
over  the  splendid  capital,  Napoleon  entered  the  gates 
and  immediately  appointed  Mortier  governor.  In  his 
directions  he  commanded  him  to  abstain  from  all  pil- 
lage. "  For  this,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  be  answera- 
ble with  your  life.  Defend  Moscow  against  all. 
whether  friend  or  foe." 

The  bright  moon  rose  over  the  mighty  city,  tipping 
with  silver  the  domes  of  more  than  two  hundred 
churches,  and  pouring  a  flood  of  light  over  a  thousand 
palaces,  and  the  dwellings  of  three  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants.  The  weary  army  sunk  to  rest ;  but 
there  was  no  sleep  for  Mortier's  eyes.  Not  the  gor- 
geous and  variegated  palaces  and  their  rich  orna- 
ments— nor  the  parks  and  gardens,  and  Oriental  mag- 
nificence that  every  where  surrounded  him,  kept  him 
wakeful,  but  the  ominous  foreboding  that  some  dire 
calamity  was  hanging  over  the  silent  capital.  When 
he  entered  it,  scarcely  a  living  soul  met  his  gaze 
as  he  looked  down  the  long  streets;  and  when 
he  broke  open  the  buildings  he  found  parlours  and 
bed-rooms  and  chambers  all  furnished  and  in  order, 
but  no  occupants.  This  sudden  abandonment  oi 
their  homes  betokened  some  secret  purpose  yet  to  be 
fulfilled.  The  midnight  moon  was  sailing  over  the 
city,  when  the  cry  of  "  fire ! "  reached  the  ears  of  Mor- 
tier; and  the  first  light  over  Napoleon's  falling  em 


MARSHAL     MORTIER.  287 

pire  was  kindled,  and  that  most  wondrous  scene  of 
modern  time,  commenced, 

THE   BURNING   OF   MOSCOW. 

Mortier.  as  governor  of  the  city,  immediately  issued 
Ids  orders,  and  was  putting  forth  every  exertion,  when 
at  daylight  Napoleon  hastened  to  him.  Affecting  to 
disbelieve  the  reports  that  the  inhabitants  were  firing 
their  own  city,  he  put  more  rigid  commands  on  Mor- 
tier, to  keep  the  soldiers  from  the  work  of  destruction. 
The  Marshal  simply  pointed  to  some  iron  covered 
houses  that  had  not  yet  been  opened,  from  every  crevice 
of  wrhich  smoke  was  issuing  like  steam  from  the  sides 
of  a  pent-up  volcano.  Sad  and  thoughtful,  Napoleon 
turned  towards  the  Kremlin,  the  ancient  palace  of  the 
Czars,  whose  huge  structure  rose  high  above  the  sur- 
rounding edifices. 

In  the  morning,  Mortier,  by  great  exertions,  was  en- 
abled to  subdue  the  fire.  But  the  next  night,  Sept. 
15th,  at  midnight,  the  sentinels  on  watch  upon  the 
lofty  Kremlin  saw  below  them  the  flames  bursting 
through  the  houses  and  palaces,  and  the  cry  of  "  fire  ! 
fire  1"  passed  through  the  city.  The  dread  scene  had 
now  fairly  opened.  Fiery  balloons  were  seen  drop- 
ping from  the  air  and  lighting  upon  the  houses — dull 
explosions  were  heard  on  every  side  from  the  shut  up 
dwellings,  and  the  next  moment  a  bright  light  burst 
forth,  and  the  flames  were  raging  through  the  apait- 
ments.  All  was  uproar  and  confusion.  The  serene  air 
and  moonlight  of  the  night  before  had  given  way  to 
driving  clouds,  and  a  wild  tempest  that  swept  with 
the  roar  of  the  sea  over  the  city.  Flames  arose  on 
every  side,  blazing  and  crackling  in  the  storm,  whilo 
clouds  of  smoke  and  sparks  in  an  incessant  shower 
went  driving  towards  the  Kremlin.  The  clouds 


238  BURNING     OF     MOSCOW 

themselves  seemed  turned  into  fire,  rolling  in  v/rall 
over  devoted  Moscow.  Mortier,  crushed  with  the  re 
Bponsibility  thus  thrown  upon  his  shoulders,  moved 
with  his  Young  Guard  amid  this  desolation,  blowing 
up  the  houses  and  facing  the  tempest  and  the  flames — 
struggling  nobly  to  arrest  the  conflagration. 

He  hastened  from  place  to  place  amid  the  blazing 
ruins,  his  face  blackened  with  the  smoke  and  his  hair 
and  eye-brows  singed  with  the  fierce  heat.  At  length 
the  day  dawned,  a  day  of  tempest  and  of  flame ;  and 
Mortier,  who  had  strained  every  nerve  for  thirty-six 
hours,  enteied  a  palace  and  dropped  down  from 
fatigue.  The  manly  form  and  stalwarth  arm  that  had 
BO  often  carried  death  into  the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  at 
length  gave  way,  and  the  gloomy  Marshal  lay  and 
panted  in  utter  exhaustion.  The  day  passed  away  in 
Btorm  and  conflagration ;  and  when  night  again  en- 
veloped the  city,  it  was  one  broad  flame,  wavering 
to  and  fro  in  the  blast.  The  wind  had  increased  to 
a  perfect  hurricane,  and  shifted  from  quarter  to 
quarter  as  if  on  purpose  to  swell  the  sea  of  fire  and 
extinguish  the  last  hope.  The  fire  rapidly  approached 
the  Kremlin,  and  soon  the  roar  of  the  flames  and  the 
crash  of  falling  houses,  and  the  crackling  of  burning 
timbers  were  borne  to  the  ears  of  the  startled  Em- 
peror. He  arose  and  walked  to  and  fro,  stopping 
convulsively  and  gazing  on  the  terrific  scene.  Mu- 
rat,  Eugene,  and  Berthier  rushed  into  his  presence, 
and  on  their  knees  besought  him  to  flee :  but  lie 
still  clung  to  that  haughty  palace,  as  if  k  were  his 
Empire. 

But  at  length  the  shout,  "The  Kremlin  is  on 
6re !"  was  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  conflagration, 
and  Napoleon  reluctantly  consented  to  leave.  He  de- 


MARSHAL     MORTIER.  288 

scended  into  the  streets  with  his  staff,  and  looked  about 
for  a  way  of  egress,  but  the  flames  blocked  every  pas- 
sage. At  length  they  discovered  a  postern  gate,  lead- 
ing tc  the  Moskwa,  and  entered  it,  but  they  had  only 
entered  still  farther  into  the  danger.  As  Napoleon  cast 
his  eye  around  the  open  space,  girdled  and  arched  with 
fire,  smoke  and  cinders,  he  saw  one  single  street  yet 
open,  but  all  on  fire.  Into  this  he  rushed,  and  amid 
the  crash  of  falling  houses,  and  raging  of  the  flames — 
over  burning  ruins,  through  clouds  of  rolling  smoke, 
and  between  walls  of  fire  he  pressed  on  ;  and  at  length, 
half  suffocated,  emerged  in  safety  from  the  heated 
city,  and  took  up  his  quarters  in  the  imperial  palace 
of  Petrowsky,  nearly  three  miles  distant.  Mortier, 
relieved  from  his  anxiety  for  the  Emperor,  redoubled 
his  efforts  to  arrest  the  conflagration.  His  men  cheer- 
fully rushed  into  every  danger.  Breathing  nothing 
but  smoke  and  ashes — canopied  by  flame,  and  sparks 
and  cinders — surrounded  by  walls  of  fire  that  rocked 
to  and  fro  and  fell  with  a  crash  amid  the  blazing  ruins, 
carrying  down  with  them  red-hot  roofs  of  iron ;  he 
struggled  against  an  enemy  that  no  boldness  could 
awe,  or  courage  overcome.  Those  brave  troops  had 
heard  the  tramp  of  thousands  of  cavalry  sweeping 
to  battle  without  fear ;  but  now  they  stood  in  still 
terror  before  the  march  of  the  conflagration,  under 
whose  burning  footsteps  was  heard  the  incessant  crash 
of  falling  houses,  and  palaces  and  churches.  The 
continuous  roar  of  the  raging  hurricane,  mingled  with 
that  of  the. flames,  was  more  terrible  than  the  thunder 
of  artillery ;  and  before  this  new  foe,  in  the  midst  of 
this  battle  of  the  elements,  the  awe-struck  army  stood 
powerless  and  affrighted. 

When  night  again  descended  on  the  city,  it  presented 
17 


290  BURNING     OF     MOSCOW. 

a  spectacle  the  like  of  which  was  never  seen  before 
and  which  baffles  all  description.  The  streets  were 
streets  of  fire — the  heavens  a  canopy  of  fire,  and  the 
entire  body  of  the  city  a  mass  of  fire,  fed  by  a  hurri- 
cane that  whirled  the  blazing  fragments  in  a  constant 
stream  through  the  air.  Incessant  explosions  from 
the  blowing  up  of  stores  of  oil,  and  tar,  and  spirits, 
shook  the  very  foundations  of  the  city,  and  sent  vast 
volumes  of  black  smoke  rolling  furiously  towards 
the  sky.  Huge  sheets  of  canvass  on  fire  came  floating 
like  messengers  of  death  through  the  flames — the 
towers  and  domes  of  the  churches  and  palaces,  glowed 
with  a  red  heat  over  the  wild  sea  below,  then  totter' 
ing  a  moment  on  their  bases  were  hurled  by  the  tem- 
pest into  the  common  ruin.  Thousands  of  wretches, 
before  unseen,  were  driven  by  the  heat  from  the  cental's 
and  hovels,  and  streamed  in  an  incessant  throng  through 
the  streets.  Children  were  seen  carrying  their  parents 
— the  strong,  the  weak ;  while  thousands  more  were 
staggering  under  the  loads  of  plunder  they  had 
snatched  from  the  flames.  This,  too,  would  frequently 
take  fire  in  the  falling  shower,  and  the  miserable  crea- 
tures would  be  compelled  to  drop  it  and  flee  for  their 
lives.  Oh,  it  was  a  scene  of  woe  and  fear  inconceiva- 
ble, and  indescribable.  A  mighty  and  close  packed 
city  of  houses,  and  churches  and  palaces,  wrapped  from 
limit  to  limit  in  flames  which  are  fed  by  a  fierce  hurri- 
cane, is  a  sight  this  world  will  seldom  see. 

But  this  was  all  within  the  city.  To  Napoleon  with- 
out, the  spectacle  was  still  more  sublime  and  terrific. 
When  the  flames  had  overcome  all  obstacles,  and 
had  wrapped  everything  in  their  red  mantle,  that  great 
rity  looked  like  a  sea  of  rolling  fire,  swept  by  a  tempest 
that  drove  it  into  vast  billows.  Huge  domes  and 


MAESHAL     MOKTIEK.  291 

towers,  throwing  off  sparks  like  blazing  fire-brands, 
now  towered  above  these  waves  and  now  disappeared 
in  their  maddening  flow,  as  they  rushed  and  broke 
high  over  their  tops,  scattering  their  spray  of  fire 
against  the  clouds.  The  heavens  themselves,  seem- 
ed to  have  caught  the  conflagration,  and  the  angry 
masses  that  swept  them,  rolled  over  a  bosom  of  fire 
Columns  of  flame  would  rise  and  sink  along  the  sur- 
face of  this  sea,  and  huge  volumes  of  black  smoke 
suddenly  shoot  into  the  air  as  if  volcanoes  were  work- 
ing below.  The  black  form  of  the  Kremlin  alone, 
towered  above  the  chaos,  now  wrapped  in  flame  and 
smoke,  and  again  emerging  into  view — standing 
amid  this  scene  of  desolation  and  terror,  like  virtue 
in  the  midst  of  a  burning  world,  enveloped  but  un- 
scathed by  the  devouring  elements.  Napoleon  stood 
and  gazed  on  this  scene  in  silent  awe.  Though  near- 
ly three  miles  distant,  the  windows  and  walls  of  his 
apartment  were  so  hot  that  he  could  scarcely  bear  his 
hand  against  them.  Said  he,  years  afterward :  "  It 
was  the  spectacle  of  a  sea  and  billows  of  fore,  a  sky 
and  clouds  of  flame,  mountains  of  red  rolling  flame, 
like  immense  waves  of  the  sea,  alternately  bursting 
forth  and  elevating  themselves  to  shies  of  jure,  and  then 
sinking  into  the  ocean  of  flame  below.  Oh  !  it  was  the 
most  grand,  the  most  sublime,  and  the  most  terrific  sight 
the  world  ever  beheld" 

When  the  conflagration  subsided,  Mortier  found 
himself  governor  of  a  city  of  ashes.  Nine-tenths  oi 
Moscow  had  sunk  in  the  flames,  and  the  gorgeoua 
capital,  with  its  oriental  magnificence — its  palaces, 
and  towers,  and  gardens,  was  a  heap  of  smoking 
ruins,  amid  which  wandered  half-naked,  starving 
wretches,  like  spectres  around  the  place  of  the  dead 


292  APPEARANCE     OP     THE     CAMP. 

Napoleon  returned  to  the  Kremlin,  but  the  spectacle 
which  the  camps  of  the  soldiers  presented  as  he  passed 
through  them,  was  one  his  eye  had  never  rested  on 
before.*  The  soldiers  had  here  and  there  thrown 
together  a  few  boards  to  shelter  them  from  the  wea 
ther,  and  sprinkled  over  the  soft,  wet  ground  with 
straw  to  keep  oif  the  dampness,  and  "  there,  reclining 
under  silken  canopies,  or  sitting  in  elegant  chairs,  with 
Cashmere  shawls  and  the  costliest  furs,  and  all  the 
apparel  of  the  noble  and  wealthy  strewed  around 
them,  they  fed  their  camp-fires  with  mahogany  furni- 
ture and  ornamental  work,  which  had  a  few  days  be- 
fore decorated  the  palaces  of  the  noble."  The  half- 
starved  wretches  were  eating  from  silver  plates,  though 
their  only  food  was  a  miserable  black  cake  and  half- 
boiled  horse-flesh.  In  the  interval  between  them  and 
the  city,  were  crowds  of  disbanded  soldiers,  staggering 
under  the  weight  of  plunder,  and  among  them  many 
Russians,  men  and  women,  seeking  the  camp-fires  of 
their  enemies.  In  the  city  it  was  still  worse,  and  an  in- 
sufferable stench  arose  from  the  smoking  mass.  Al, 
discipline  was  lost,  and  the  disbanded  army  swarmed 
through  the  streets  for  plunder.  This  they  gathered 
into  the  open  places,  and  bartered  away  with  their 
friends.  Thus  the  poor  creatures  loaded  themselves 
with  gold  and  silver,  and  costly  apparel,  little  think- 
ing how  valueless  the  snow-drifts  of  Russia  would  soon 
make  them.  When  Napoleon  was  again  established 
in  the  Kremlin,  he  put  a  stop  to  this  disorder,  and 
ordered  the  pillaging  to  be  carried  on  according  to 
rule. 

At  length,  the  reluctant  Napoleon  turned  his  back 
on  the  towers  of  Moscow,  confessing  to  the  world,  thai 

*  FitfeSegur. 


MAE8HAL     MOKTIEB.  293 

after  the  loss  of  a  hundred  thousand  men  and  incredi 
ble  toil,  he  had  grasped  only  a  phantom.  It  was  ne- 
cessary that  some  one  should  cover  his  retreat  by 
remaining  in  the  city,  and  Mortier  was  appointed  to 
this  unwelcome  task.  Had  the  Young  Guard  been 
left  with  him,  it  would  not  have  been  so  hopeless  an 
undertaking ;  but  only  eight  thousand  were  put  under 
his  command,  of  which  not  more  than  a  quarter  could 
be  relied  upon.  With  this  handful  of  men  he  was  to 
cover  Napoleon's  retreat,  and*  when  he  could  hold  out 
no  longer,  to  blow  up  the  Kremlin  and  join  the  rear 
guard  of  the  army.  It  was  necessary  for  some  one 
to  do  this  for  the  safety  of  the  army,  and  the  lot  fell 
more  naturally  on  Mortier  as  governor  of  the  city. 
That  is — a  sacrifice  was  demanded,  and  it  seemed 
proper  that  Mortier  should  be  the  victim.  That  he 
should  escape  the  whole  Russian  army  was  not  to  be 
expected,  and  when  his  friends  took  their  farewell,  it 
was  as  with  one  they  should  never  see  again.  Mor- 
tier himself  looked  on  his  career  as  ended,  but  made 
no  complaint.  Without  a  murmur  he  set  about  fulfilling 
the  task  allotted  him. 

As  the  army  withdrew  from  the  city  the  Cossacks  be- 
gan to  swarm  around  it,  and  finally  drove  Mortier  and 
his  feeble  band  into  the  Kremlin.  These  were  followed 
by  ten  thousand  Russians,  who  pressed  around  the 
French  Marshal.  To  perform  the  double  task  assigned 
him  of  defending  the  city  and  blowing  up  the  Kremlin, 
he  was  compelled,  even  while  he  occupied  it,  to  gather 
immense  quantities  of  powder  within  it,  a  single  touch 
of  which  would  send  that  massive  structure  broken  and 
shattered  towards  the  heavens.  He  placed  a  hundred 
and  eighty-three  thousand  pounds  in  the  vaults  below, 
while  he  scattered  barrels  of  it  through  the  different 


294:    BLOWING  DP  OF  THE  KREMLIN. 

apartments  above.  Over  this  volcano  of  his  owe 
creation  he  stood  and  fought  for  four  days,  when  the 
slightest  ignition  from  one  of  the  enemy's  guns  would 
have  buried  him  and  his  soldiers  in  one  wild  grave 
together. 

At  length,  after  he  had  kindled  a  slow  fire- work, 
whose  combustion  could  be  nicely  calculated,  he  led 
his  weary  troops  out  of  that  ancient  structure.  But 
while  he  marched  with  rapid  steps  from  the  scene  of 
danger,  several  Cossacks  and  Russians,  finding  the 
imperial  palace  deserted,  rushed  into  it  after  plunder. 
The  next  moment,  the  massive  pile  wavered  to  and 
fro  like  a  column  of  sand,  and  seeming  to  rise  from 
the  earth,  fell  with  a  crash  that  was  heard  thirty 
miles  distant.  The  earth  shook  under  Mortier  as  if 
an  earthquake  was  on  the  march.  Huge  stones — 
fragments  of  wall — thirty  thousand  stand  of  arms, 
and  mangled  bodies  and  limbs  were  hurled  in  one 
fierce  shower  heavenward  together,  and  then  sunk  over 
the  ruined  city.  The  second  act  in  the  great  tra- 
gedy was  now  ended,  and  the  last  was  about  to  com 
mence. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  army  he  was  again  placed 
over  the  Young  Guard.  At  the  battle  of  Krasnoi, 
which  Napoleon  fought  to  save  Davoust,  and  which 
was  described  in  the  chapter  on  that  Marshal,  Mor- 
tier was  the  principal  actor.  When  Bonaparte  with 
his  six  thousand  Imperial  Guard  marched  into  the 
centre  of  fifty  thousand  Russians,  protected  by  power- 
ful batteries,  Mortier,  with  five  thousand  of  the 
Young  Guard — all  that  was  left  of  that  splendid  body 
— was  just  in  advance  of  him.  He  and  General  Ro- 
guet  commenced  the  attack.  The  Russians,  able  by 
their  overwhelm^  numbers  to  crush  that  handful 


MARSHAL     MOKTIEK.  295 

of  French  at  once,  hesitated  to  advance,  and  began 
to  cannonade  them.  Mortier  stood  with  his  noble 
Guard  in  the  midst  of  this  iron  storm,  willing  victims 
to  save  Davoust.  Having  no  artillery  of  his  own  to 
answer  the  murderous  batteries  of  the  Russians,  and 
they  being  beyond  the  reach  of  musketry,  he  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  remain  inactive,  and  let  the  cannon 
plough  through  his  ranks.  For  three  mortal  hours 
he  stood  and  saw  the  horrible  gaps  which  every  dis- 
charge made.  Yet  not  a  battalion  broke ;  and  that 
Young  Guard  there  proved  themselves  worthy  to  fight 
beside  the  Old  Guard  of  the  Empire.  In  those  three 
hours  two  thousand  of  his  little  band  had  fallen,  and 
then  he  was  directed  to  retreat.  Steadily  and  in  per- 
fect order,  though  the  enemy  were  rapidly  hemming 
them  in,  did  that  heroic  Guard  retire  before  those 
fifty  thousand  Russians.  Mortier  gave  orders  for 
them  to  retreat  slowly,  and  General  Laborde,  repeat- 
ing his  orders,  exclaimed,  "Do  you  hear,  soldiers  f 
the  Marshal  orders  ordinary  time.  Ordinary  time, 
soldiers  /"  and  amid  that  incessant  tempest  of  grape* 
shot  and  balls,  it  was  "  ordinary  time "  with  them. 
The  brave  fellows  never  hastened  their  steps  by  a  single 
movement,  but  marched  as  calmly  out  of  that  storm  as 
if  going  to  their  bivouacks. 

At  Lutzen  and  Dresden  he  fought  worthy  of  his 
former  glory,  and  at  the  disastrous  battle  of  Leipsicj 
commanded  the  Old  Guard.  He  battled  for  France 
till  the  last  moment,  and  when  the  allied  forces  invaded 
his  country,  and  were  marching  towards  Paris,  he 
and  Marmont  alone  were  left  to  arrest  them.  Napo- 
leon, thinking  to  draw  the  enemy  after  him,  had  hung 
on  their  rear  till  they  were  out  of  his  reach,  and  on  the 
march  for  the  French  capital. 


296  BATTLE     OF     MONTMIRAIL. 

But  previous  to  his  separation  from  Napoleon,  Mo: 
tier  combated  bravely  by  his  side  in  those  stupendous 
efforts  he  put  forth  to  save  his  Empire.  At  the  battle 
of  Moutmirail  he  fought  beside  Ney  with  the  greatest 
heroism.  At  the  commencement  of  the  action  he 
was  not  on  the  field,  but  amid  the  roar  of  artillery 
and  the  shocks  of  the  bayonet  he  came  up,  bringing 
with  him  the  Old  Guard,  the  cuirassiers,  and  the 
Guards  of  Honour.  Napoleon  immediately  ordered  a 
grand  attack  on  the  centre,  and  while  victory  stood 
balancing  in  the  conflict,  he  brought  up  the  cuirassiers 
and  Guards  of  Honour.  As  they  rode  in  their  splendid 
array  past  him,  he  said,  "  Brave  young  men !  there  is 
the  enemy  !  will  you  let  them  march  on  Paris  ?"  "  We 
will  not,"  was  the  ready  response,  and  shaking  their 
glittering  sabres  over  their  heads,  they  burst  with  a  loud 
hurrah  on  the  enemy,  scattering  them  like  a  whirlwind 
from  their  path. 

At  the  bloody  battle  of  Craon,  he  fought  on  foot  at 
the  head  of  his  columns ;  and  amid  one  of  the  most 
wasting  fires  of  artillery,  troops  were  perhaps  ever  ex- 
posed to,  steadied  his  men  by  his  example,  and  was 
seen,  again  and  again,  with  his  tall,  commanding  form 
rising  above  his  soldiers,  to  move  straight  in  to  the 
blaze  of  the  enemy's  batteries.  When  the  smoke  cleared 
away,  there  he  still  stood  amid  his  rent  and  shattered 
ranks,  sending  his  calm  voice  over  the  tumult,  and  ani- 
mating, for  the  third  time,  his  troops  by  his  courageous 
words  and  still  more  courageous  actions. 

]>ut  when  Marmont  and  Mortier,  who  had  held 
the  positions  at  Rheims  and  Soissons,  as  Napoleon 
had  directed,  found  themselves  cut  off  from  all  com 
municfction  with  the  Emperor  by  the  interpositioi 
of  the  Russian  army,  their  case  became  desperate 


MARSHAL     MORTIER.  201 

With  only  twenty  thousand  men  in  all,  they  slowly 
retired  towards  Paris  before  the  formidable  masses  oi 
the  allied  forces.  The  weary  army  was  toiling  oi\ 
striving  to  gain  the  village  of  Fere-Champanoise, 
fighting  as  it  went,  when  twenty  thousand  horse 
came  thundering  upon  it  and  a  hundred  and  thirty 
guns  opened  their  fire  on  its  shaking  squares. 
Bravely  combating,  Mortier  struggled  with 'his  wont- 
ed firmness  to  steady  his  troops.  His  five  thousand 
cavalry  met  the  shock  of  these  twenty  thousand 
bravely,  but  in  vain ;  the  hundred  and  eighty  guns 
Bent  havoc  amid  the  squares,  making  huge  rente  into 
which  the  Russian  cuirassiers  galloped  with  fierce 
valour,  treading  down  every  thing  in  their  passage. 
A  heavy  rolling  fire  of  musketry  met  each  charge, 
but  at  length  order  was  lost,  and  the  army,  which  had 
patiently  dragged  its  bleeding  form  over  the  plain 
rushed  in  one  confused  mass  into  Fere-Champanoise. 
A  gallant  charge  of  horse  from  the  village,  right 
through  the  broken  ranks,  arrested  the  pursuit  til. 
Mortier  and  Marmont  could  rally  their  troops  behind 
the  houses. 

The  next  day  a  division,  under  General  Pacthod, 
coming  up  to  join  the  French  army,  was  surrounded 
by  the  Imperial  Guards  of  Alexander,  commanded 
by  the  Emperor  in  person,  and  refusing  to  surrender, 
was  utterly  annihilated.  It  could  not  be  helped, 
though  the  valour  the  soldiers  exhibited,  deserved  a 
better  reward.  Completely  surrounded,  they  formed 
themselves  into  squares,  and  kept  up  a  rolling  fire 
as  they  retreated  towards  Fere-Champanoise.  Thir- 
teen thousand  cavalry  galloped  around  this  worn 
band  of  six  thousand,  filling  the  air  with  dust,  and 

fell  in  successive  shocks  on  them  in  vain,  till  a  battery 
17*  J 


298  A    TOUCHING     INCIDENT. 

brought  to  bear  with  fatal  effect,  made  a  lane 
through  one  square,  into  which  they  dashed,  and 
sabred  it  to  pieces.  The  Emperor  Alexander,  ad- 
miring their  valour,  wished  to  save  them,  and  ordered 
them  to  surrender.  General  Pacthod  refused,  and, 
cheering  his  men  by  his  actions  and  words,  roused 
them  to  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm ;  and  though 
the  cannon  balls  crushed  through  them  with  fright- 
ful havoc,  they  moved  on  unshaken — till  their  ammuni- 
tion was  exhausted — then  weeping  in  indignation  that 
they  had  fired  their  last  cartridge,  charged  bayonet. 
At  length,  when  half  of  the  whole  division  had  fallen, 
and  the  enemy's  cavalry  was  riding  through  their 
broken  ranks  with  irresistible  fury,  General  Pacthod 
delivered  up  his  sword. 

A  most  touching  incident  occurred  during  thia 
engagement.  In  the  midst  of  the  fight  Lord  London- 
derry saw  a  young  and  beautiful  lady,  the  wife  of  a 
French  officer,  dragged  from  a  caleche  by  three 
wretches  who  were  making  off  with  their  prey.  Gal- 
loping up  to  her  rescue,  he  snatched  her  from  their 
hands  and  delivered  her  to  his  orderly,  to  be  taken 
to  his  own  quarters,  who,  lifting  her  to  the  horse  be- 
hind him,  started  off,  but  was  scarcely  out  of  sight 
when  a  band  of  Cossacks  rushed  upon  him  and  pierc- 
ing him  through  with  a  lance,  bore  off  the  lady.  She 
was  never  heard  of  more.  Every  exertion  was  made 
to  discover  her  fate,  but  it  was  never  known.  Whether 
a  prey  to  lawless  violence,  she  was  released  from  her 
Bufferings  by  death,  or  whether  s.<e  dragged  cut  her 
existence  a  helpless  captive,  no  one  can  tell. 

After  this  defeat,  Mortier  and  Marmont  could  no 
longer  keep  the  field,  and  fell  back  on  Paris.  There 
they  made  the  last  stand  for  their  country,  and 


MARSHAL     MOKTIEE.  295 

fought  till  valour  and  resistance  were  no  longer  oi 
avail,  and  then  delivered  up  their  swords  to  the  ene- 
my. But  though  together  in  their  retreat,  and  equally 
brave  in  their  last  defence,  they  were  not  alike  in  their 
surrender  of  the  city.  Mortier's  honour  is  free  from  the 
stain  that  dims  the  lustre  of  Marmont's  fame. 

Sickness,  as  before  stated,  prevented  Mortier  from 
itriking  a  last  blow  for  Napoleon  at  Waterloo.  If  he 
had  commanded  the  Young  Guard  on  that  day,  and 
Murat  the  cavalry,  the  fate  of  the  battle  and  the  world 
might  have  been  changed. 

He  was  retained  in  the  confidence  of  Louis  Philippe ; 
until  at  length  he  who  had  passed  through  so  many  bat 
ties  unscathed,  fell  a  victim  to  an  assassin.  On  the  28th 
of  July,  1835,  as  Louis  Philippe  was  going  to  a  review 
of  the  National  guard,  Mortier  on  horseback  close  be- 
hind, was  killed  by  the  explosion  of  Fieschi's  infernal 
machine.  A  little  delay  had  allowed  the  king  to  pass 
the  spot  of  danger,  but  when  the  smoke  lifted,  Mortier 
was  seen  falling  from  his  horse,  dead.  He  was  the  most 
distinguished  victim  in  that  attempt  to  assassinate  thf 
King, 


X. 


MARSHAL  SOULT. 

His  early  career — Campaigns  with  Massena — His  Character— Battle  of 
Austerlitz — His  first  campaign  in  Spain — Death  of  Sir  John  Moore — 
Storming  of  Oporto — Retreat  from  Portugal — Battle  of  Albuera  — 
Second  campaign  in  Spain — Siege  of  St.  Sebastian! — Soult's  last  etrug 
gle  for  the  Empire. 

No  American  has  visited  the  Chamber  of  Peers, 
vrithin  the  last  few  years,  without  being  struck  with 
the  appearance  of  Marshal  Soult.  The  old  warrior, 
with  his  grave  and  severe  look,  comes  limping  intc 
the  hall,  almost  the  sole  representative  of  that  band 
of  heroes  to  whom  Napoleon  committed  his  Empire, 
and  whose  names  are  indissolubly  linked  with  his 
through  all  coming  time.  He  is  now  about  seventy- 
Beven  years  of  age,  though  erect  as  a  soldier.  His 
head  is  bald  on  the  top,  and  the  thin  hair  that  re- 
mains is  whitened  by  the  frosts  of  age.  He  is,  per- 

{  haps,  a  little  over  the  middle__hei^itj  rather  s^uaro 
Luilt,  and  evidently  once  possessed  great  muscular 
power.  His  eye  is  dark,  and  now  and  then  exhibits 
something  of  its  ancient  fire,  while  his  brown  visage 
looks  as  if  he  had  just  returned  from  a  long  campaign, 
rather  than  lived  at  his  ease  in  Paris.  He  is  extreme- 

/  ly  bow-legged,  which  is  evidently  increased  by  the 
wound  that  makes  him  limp,  and  though  he  weal's  am- 
ple pantaloons  to  conceal  the  defect,  nothing  but  petti 


MAS8HAL     8OULT.  301 

coats  can  ever  prevent  the  lower  extremities  of  the 
Marshal  from  presenting  the  appearance  of  a  paren- 
thesis. He  received  his  wound  in  storming  Monte  Creto, 
at  the  time  when  Massena  was  besieged  in  Genoa. 
His  voice  is  rather  guttural,  and  its  tone  severe,  aa 
if  belonging  to  a  man  who  had  passed  his  life  in  tie 
camp. 

No  one  acquainted  with  his  history,  can  behold  the 
old  veteran  limping  to  his  seat,  without  emotion. 
One  of  the  chief  props  and  pillars  of  Napoleon's 
throne,  and  one  of  the  principal  actors  in  that  great 
drama  which  he  enacted  on  the  plains  of  Europe, 
his  presence  calls  to  mind  many  a  fierce  fought 
battle,  and  many  a  victory  too.  During  some  of  those 
frequently  stupid  seances  of  the  Chamber,  I  have  often 
wondered,  as  I  looked  down  on  Soult  in  his  seat,  whether 
he,  too,  was  not  thinking  of  his  struggles  along  the 
Rhine,  or  his  bivouacs  in  the  Alps,  or  of  some  of  those 
fearful  scenes  he  witnessed  in  Spain. 

Nicholas-Jean-de-Dieu  Soult  was  born  in  the  small 
town  of  Arnans,  Department  of  Tarn,  the  29th  oi 
March,  1769,  or  about  four  months  after  Bonaparte. 
His  father  was  a  country  Notary,  of  no  distinction, 
and  apparently  unable  to  control  the  restless  spirit 
of  his  boy,  let  him  choose  his  own  course  of  life. 
Young  Soult  could  not  brook  the  confinement  of  study, 
and  read  little,  and  that  not  of  the  most  instructive 
kind,  and  becoming  perfectly  disgusted  with  the  old 
parchments  of  his  father,  at  the  age  of  sixteen  entered, 
as  a  volunteer,  in  a  regiment  of  the  Royal  Infantry. 
The  revolution  opened  an  ample  field  for  his  genius, 
and  during  the  first  struggles  of  the  Republic  he  distin 
guished  himself  by  his  skill  and  bravery,  and  rapid!  j 
went  up  from  Sergeant  to  Uuder-Lieutenant,  Adjutant, 


302  II  T  8     EARLY     CAREER. 

Major,  Cf.ptain,  Chief  of  Battalion,  and  Colonel— learn 
ing  the  art  of  war  under  Luckner,  Hoche,  Lefebvre, 
and  Jourdan. 

At  the  battle   of   Fleurus,   in   1794,  he  was  chief 
of  the  staff  under  Lefebvre,  and  there  exhibited  that 
admirable   coolness   and  penetration,  in  the  bour  of 
danger,  which   afterwards  made  him  so  conspicuous 
as  a  military  leader.     General  Marceau   commanded 
the  right  of   the   army,   and  his   division  Ardennes 
was  hurled  back  by  a  charge  of  the  enemy  and  thrown 
into  disorder.     Marceau,  in  despair,  hurried  to   Soult, 
and  asked  for  four  battalions  to  help  him  restore  the 
combat.     But  the  latter  saw  that  he  could  not  grant  hia 
request,  without  endangering  Lefebvre's  division,  and 
refused.     Marceau,  in  the  agony  and  confusion  of  the 
moment,  threatened  to  shoot  himself  if  he  was  not 
aided.     Soult  told  him  to  be  calm  and  steady.     "  Rally 
your  men  to  the  charge,"  said  he,  "  and  the  four  bat- 
talions shall  come  as  soon   as  possible."    The  words 
were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth,  before  Prince  Coburg 
was  on  him  like  a  rolling  torrent,  and  Soult  was  in  a 
moment  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight.     After  the  battle 
was  over,  Marceau  sought  him   out,  and  generously 
begged  his  pardon  for  his  rudeness,  and  praised  him  for 
his  valour. 

Promoted  to  General  of  Brigade  this  year,  he  fought 
bravely  at  the  battles  of  Altenkirchen,  Lahn,  and 
Friedberg.  Being  detached  one  day  with  three  bat- 
talions and  a  hundred  and  fifty  cavalry,  to  cover  the 
left  of  the  army  stationed  at  Herban,  he  suddenly 
found  himself,  in  the  course  of  his  march,  surrounded 
by  four  thousand  cavalry.  His  destruction  seemed 
inevitable ;  but  immediately  forming  his  men  into 
squares,  he  cooley  me*  the  shock,  while  a  devouring 


MARSHAL     SOTJLT.  305 

fire,  rolling  round  the  steady  ranks,  emptied  the 
enemy's  saddles  with  frightful  rapidity.  But  the 
Austrian  commander,  thinking  this  little  band  must  go 
down  before  his  fierce  squadrons,  rallied  his  men  at 
a  distance,  and  again  ordered  the  charge.  The  trum- 
pets sounded,  and  these  four  thousand  riders  moved 
to  the  onset.  Advancing  first  on  a  plunging  trot,  they 
at  length  broke  into  a  fierce  gallop,  and  with  an  im- 
petuosity and  strength  that  made  the  ground  thunder 
and  smoke  in  their  passage,  burst  with  a  loud  shout 
upon  the  ranks.  The  smoke  covered  both  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  when  it  lifted,  the  shattered  squadrons 
were  recoiling  over  the  field.  Again  and  again  did 
that  splendid  body  of  cavalry  re-form  and  rush  to  the 
charge,  and  as  often  retire  before  the  steady  valour 
that  opposed  it.  Thus  for  five  hours  did  Soult  stand 
amid  his  little  band,  animating  them  by  his  voice  and 
example,  till  five  successive  shocks  had  been  repulsed, 
and  then  continued  his  march  without  having  left  a 
single  man  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

After  the  peace  of  Campo  Formio,  Soult  rested  for 
a  while ;  but  in  1798,  while  Bonaparte  was  in  Egypt, 
he  is  found  again  in  the  field  of  battle.  At  the  village 
of  Ostrach,  with  only  6,000  men,  composing  the  ad- 
vanced guard  of  the  army,  he  was  attacked  by  25,000 
Austrians  under  the  Archduke  Charles.  Under  the 
murderous  fire  of  such  superior  numbers,  his  com- 
paratively feeble  band  began  to  shake.  One  battalion 
bent  backward,  and  was  on  the  point  of  flying,  when 
Soult  seized  a  standard,  and  rushing  to  its  head,  called 
on  the  soldiers  to  follow  him,  and.  boldly  charged  into 
the  very  midst  of  the  enemy  and  thus  saved  his  army 
from  a  rout. 

The  next  month  he  was  made  General  of  Division, 


304  HIB     BRAVERY     AT    GENOA. 

and  passed  through  the  campaign  of  Switzerland 
under  Massena.  While  the  latter  was  winning  the 
battle  of  Zurich,  Soult,  stationed  hetween  Lake  Zu- 
rich and  Wallenstadt,  to  prevent  the  junction  of  the 
.Austrians  and  Russians,  was  equally  successful.  The 
enemy  was  encamped  on  the  farther  side  of  the  Linth, 
in  a  secure  position;  but  Soult  organized  a  company 
of  a  hundred  and  fifty  swimmers,  who,  with  their 
sabres  in  their  teeth,  and  holding  their  muskets  in 
one  hand  over  their  heads,  boldly  dashed  into  the 
river  at  midnight,  and  swam  to  the  opposite  shore. 
They  here  made  a  stand  till  some  grenadiers  could  be 
"got  over,  and  then  attacked  the  camp  of  the  enemy, 
putting  it  to  rout,  slaying  and  taking  four  thousand 
men.  While  these  brilliant  victories  by  Massena  and 
Soult  were  sending  a  few  rays  of  light  across  the  gloom 
that  hung  over  the  French  armies,  Bonaparte  returned 
from  Egypt.  Massena  was  immediately  appointed  to 
Genoa;  and  in  assuming  the  command,  he  requested 
that  Soult  might  be  attached  to  him.  He  had  seen 
his  skill  and  bravery  in  Switzerland,  and  he  needed 
him  in  the  desperate  undertaking  which  was  now 
before  him.  Elevated  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant-gene- 
ral, Soult  passed  the  Alps  ;  and  after  fighting  bravely, 
was  driven  with  Massena  into  Genoa.  Here,  by  hia 
fierce  onsets,  which  completely  stunned  the  enemy,  and 
by  his  brilliant  victories,  fighting  heroically  and  vic- 
toriously against  the  most  overwhelming  numbers,  ho 
showed  that  Massena  was  not  deceived  in  the  spirit 
he  had  sought  to  aid  him  in  this  campaign.  The  last 
effort  that  was  made,  before  the  French  were  com- 
pletely shut  up  in  the  city,  was  the  assault  on  Mount 
Creto,  conducted  by  Soult.  It  was  a  desperate  under- 
taking at  the  best,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  bloody 


MARSHAL     BOULT.  305 

combat  a  thunder-storm  swept  over  the  mountain,  and 
enveloped  the  two  hosts.  In  the  midst  of  the  roar  of 
the  artillery,  and  louder  roll  of  thunder,  and  flashes  of 
lightning  that  outshone  the  girdle  of  fire  that  wrap 
ped  the  enemy,  Soult  headed  a  last  charge  in  one  more 
effort  to  save  the  day.  Pressing  boldly  on  into  the 
midst  of  the  fire,  he  was  struck  by  a  ball,  and  fell, 
Supposing  he '  was  killed,  his  men  turned  and  fled, 
With  a  broken  leg,  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and  soon 
after  sent  to  Alessandria.  Here  news  was  finally 
brought  him  that  Genoa  had  capitulated ;  and  imme- 
diately after,  that  Bonaparte  was  in  the  plains  of  Italy, 
having  fallen  like  an  avalanche  from  the  Alps. 

Lying  on  his  back,  he  heard  one  morning  the  depar- 
ture of  the  Austrian  army,  as  it  issued  forth  over  the 
Bormida  to  battle.  The  heavy  tread  of  the  marching 
columns,  the  rumbling  of  the  artillery,  and  the  thrill- 
ing strains  of  martial  music,  had  scarcely  died  away 
on  his  ear,  before  the  thunder  of  cannon  shook  the 
house  in  which  he  lay  a  helpless  captive.  All  day 
long,  the  windows  in  his  room  rattled  to  the  jar  which 
the  tremendous  cannonading  on  the  field  of  Harengo 
sent  for  miles  around.  Hour  after  hour,  he  lay  and 
listened  to  the  fast  and  fierce  explosions  which  told 
how  deadly  the  strife  was,  until  at  length  the  retiring 
tumult  declared  too  well  to  his  practiced  ear  that  France 
was  retreating.  Next  he  heard  shouts  of  victory 
through  the  streets,  and  his  eye  flashed  fire  in  the 
eagerness  to  help  stem  the  tide  of  battle.  All  was 
lost,  and  he  turned  uneasily  on  his  couch ;  when  sud- 
denly, towards  evening,  the  battle  seemed  to  open 
with  treble  violence.  Again  he  listened  ;  and  as  the 
Bound  drew  near,  his  heart  beat  quick  and  anxiously ; 
and  as  night  came  on,  and  through  the  darkness  the 


306  HIS     DISCIPLINE. 

fierce  uproar  approached  the  city,  till  the  cannon  seem 
ed  to  be  playing  almost  on  its  very  walls — a  smile  01 
joy  passed  over  his  countenance.  The  next  moment  a 
crovrd  of  fugitives  burst  through  the  gates,  and  the  cry 
of  "  All  is  '.ost,"  told  the  wounded  chieftain  that  Italy 
was  won. 

Being  soon  after  exchanged  for  some  Austrian  offi- 
cer, he  was  presented  to  Napoleon,  who  had  heretofore 
known  little  of  him,  except  by  report.  He  asked  Mas- 
sena  if  he  was  deserving  of  the  high  reputation  he  had 
gained  The  hero  of  Genoa  replied,  "  for  judgment 
and  courage  he  has  few  equals."  He  had  fought  beside 
him  in  three  desperate  sorties  from  the  city,  and  had 
seen  him  charge  with  a  coolness  and  intrepidity 
against  overwhelming  odds  that  won  his  admiration  and 
esteem. 

In  consequence  of  this  high  encomium,  Soult  was 
appointed  chief  commander  in  Piedmont,  to  quell  the 
brigands,  called  Barbets,  and  soon  after  was  made  Colo- 
nel General  of  the  Consular  Guard,  and  given  the  com- 
mand of  the  camp  of  St.  Omar. 

When  Napoleon  meditated  his  grand  descent  on 
England,  Soult  was  placed  over  the  army  between 
Boulogne  and  Calais.  Knowing  well  what  kind  of  an 
enemy  England  was,  and  the  character  of  her  troops, 
the  latter  commenced  a  course  of  discipline  to  which 
French  soldiers  had  never  before  been  subject.  With 
a  frame  of  iron  and  a  will  that  matched  it,  he  concen- 
trated all  his  energies  to  the  task  before  him.  From 
daylight  till  dark  he  was  seen  moving  about,  now  on 
horseback  inspecting  his  troops,  and  drilling  them  to 
the  limit  of  human  endurance,  and  now  passing 
through  their  entrenchments  and  directing  their  pro- 
gress. The  constant  exercise  he  demanded  of  the 


MARSHAL     8OTJLT.  307 

soldiers,  caused  them  to  complain  to  Bonaparte ;  and 
the  latter  finally  expostulated  with  him,  saying  that 
he  feared  the  men  would  sink  under  it.  Soult  replied, 
"  Those  who  cannot  endure  what  I  myself  do,  will 
remain  at  home ;  while  those  who  bear  it,  will  be  fit 
fo:  undertake  the  conquest  of  the  world.'"'  He  could 
not  have  returned  a  reply  more  grateful  to  Napoleon ; 
and  when  the  latter  became  Emperor  of  France,  he 
made  him  Marshal  of  the  Empire. 

He  commanded  the  right  wing  at  Austerlitz ;  and 
at  Jena  assailed  the  centre  of  the  enemy  with  despe- 
rate energy.  At  Eylau,  he,  with  Augereau,  was  first 
engaged;  and,  although  enveloped  in  the  middle  of 
the  field  by  a  snow  storm  that  blotted  out  every  thing 
from  view,  while  two  hundred  cannon  incessantly 
played  on  his  staggering  column,  he  was  enabled  to 
fall  back  in  good  order.  At  Heilsberg  he  fought  with 
unrivalled  courage ;  and  after  the  battle  of  Friedland, 
marched  into  Konigsberg,  after  having  forced  the 
enemy  from  the  city. 

Soon  after  he  was  sent  into  Spain  to  repair  tho 
disasters  of  King  Joseph,  whom  no  experience  or 
instructions  could  make  a  great  military  leader.  Or- 
dered to  invade  Portugal,  he  carried  Oporto  by  assault 
with  great  slaughter;  but  was  compelled  finally  to 
retreat  before  the  superior  force  of  Wellesley.  To 
put  an  end  to  the  rivalry  among  the  various  generals 
in  Spain,  Napoleon  at  length  appointed  him  Major 
General  of  the  French  army  there;  thus  showing 
the  high  opinion  he  had  of  his  military  abilities.  The 
victory  of  Ocana  soon  after  justified  the  confidence 
placed  in  him. 

For  several  years  Soult  carried  on  this  unhappy  war 
in  Spam — now  pursuing,  and  now  retreating-— until 


308  BE-APPOINTMENT     TO     SPAIN. 

the  disastrous  issue  of  the  Russian  campaign,  wheu 
he  was  called  by  Napoleon,  in  (1813,)  to  support 
his  falling  empire  in  the  north. 

After  the  battles  of  Lutzen  and  Bautzen,  news  reached 
Napoleon  of  his  losses  in  the  peninsula,  and  the  defeat 
of  his  armies  at  the  battle  of  Yittoria.  He  immediately 
looked  around  among  his  generals  to  see  who  could  best 
repair  the  follies  of  his  royal  brother ;  and  Soult  was 
again  selected.  But  the  wife  of  the  obedient  Marshal 
did  not  wish  to  return  to  a  country  where  there  was 
such  obstinate  fighting  with  so  few  laurels,  and  used 
all  her  persuasion,  not  only  with  her  husband,  but 
with  the  Emperor,  to  have  him  remain.  Napoleon 
repulsed  her  rudely;  and  Soult  hastened,  as  fast  as 
horses  could  carry  him,  to  Paris.  Stopping  there 
only  a  few  hours,  he  pressed  on  to  Spain.  Scarcely 
had  he  arrived  at  head-quarters  before  the  army  was 
in  motion ;  and  though  he  did  all  that  human  energy 
could  do,  he  was  finally  beaten  at  every  point.  He, 
however,  fought  the  last  battle — fired  the  last  cannon 
for  Napoleon;  and  at  length,  on  the  news  of  the 
abdication,  transferred  his  command  to  the  Duke 
of  Angouleme,  and  returned  to  Paris.  Confirmed  in 
his  ranks  and  titles  by  Louis  XVIII.,  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  the  thirteenth  military  division.  He  was 
soon  after  named  Minister  of  War ;  and  in  urging  the 
sequestration  of  the  property  of  the  Bonaparte  family, 
and  in  bringing  General  Excelmans  before  a  Coun- 
cil of  War,  he  showed  a  great  deal  of  gratuitous  zeal 
for  his  new  master. 

When  Napoleon  returned  from  Elba,  Soult  publish- 
ed his  famous  order  of  the  day,  in  which  the  Emporoi 
was  stigmatized  as  an  adventurer  and  usurper.  Louis 
however,  suspected  him,  and  took  from  him  his  ap- 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  309 

pomtment  as  Minister  of  "Wai.  Soon  after  Napoleon's 
arrival  in  Paris,  Soult  sought  an  interview  with  him, 
and  though  it  is  not  known  what  passed  between 
them,  the  latter,  in  a  few  days,  was  appointed  Major 
General,  and  published  another  order  of  the  day, 
sdiich  shewed  a  wonderful  change  he  had  undergone 
respecting  the  "  adventurer  and  usurper."  He  fought 
at  Fleurus  and  Waterloo,  but  not  with  the  energy  of 
his  younger  days.  On  the  second  restoration  of  the 
Bourbons  he  was  put  on  the  proscribed  list,  and  fearing 
he  should  be  brought  to  trial,  published  a  justification 
of  himself,  in  which  he  referred  to  Napoleon  in  dispar- 
aging terms — an  act  that  must  forever  be  a  stain  on  his 
character. 

Exiled  with  other  French  Generals,  he  retired  to 
Dusseldorf,  in  Russia,  where  he  remained  three  years, 
employed  chiefly  in  preparing  his  memoirs,  which, 
on  his  death,  will  probabaly  be  given  to  the  world.  In 
1819,  he  was  permitted  to  return  to  Paris,  and  the  next 
year  received  again  his  Marshal's  baton.  In  1829, 
Charles  X.  made  him  Peer  of  France,  and  conferred 
on  him  the  collar  of  Saint  Esprit.  Under  Louis  Phil- 
lippe  he  became  Minister  of  War,  and  finally  President 
of  the  Council.  He  took  an  active  part  in  the  agita- 
tions and  struggles  of  April,  1834.  His  course,  howovei, 
not  being  approved,  he  retired  into  private  life  till  1839, 
when  he  again  became  President  of  the  Council. 

Representing  the  court  of  France  at  the  Coronation 
of  Queen  Victoria,  he  was  everywhere  received  with 
the  greatest  enthusiasm,  and  the  multitude  pressed 
eagerly  around  him  to  see  one  who  had  been  such  a 
prominent  actor  in  the  great  drama  of  the  French 
Revolution. 

Marshal   Soult    had   less  genius  but  more  intellect 


310  HIS     CHARACTER. 

than  most  of  the  distinguished  French  Marshals 
He  had  none  of  that  high  chivalric  feeling  which  so 
frequently  bore  them  triumphantly  over  the  battle- 
field ;  but  he  had  in  its  place,  a  clear,  sound  judgment, 
and  a  fearless  heart.  It  required  no  thunder  of  cannon 
to  clear  his  ideas — his  thoughts  were  always  clear, 
and  his  hand  ever  ready  to  strike.  He  depended  on 
the  conclusions  of  reason  rather  than  on  the  inspiration 
of  genius  for  victory.  He  calculated  the  chances  be- 
forehand, and  when  his  purpose  was  taken,  it  was 
no  ordinary  obstacle  or  danger  that  could  shake  it. 
Such  men  as  JVIurat,  and  Lannes,  and  Augereau,  re- 
lied very  much  on  the  enthusiasm  of  their  soldiers, 
and  the  power  which  intense  excitement  always  im- 
parts ;  Soult,  on  the  contrary,  on  the  discipline  of 
his  troops,  and  the  firmness  and  steadiness  it  gives, 
either  in  assault  or  retreat ;  and  hence,  when  left 
alone,  could  be  depended  on  as  an  able  and  efficient 
General.  Though  impetuous  as  a  storm  in  the  early 
part  of  his  life,  it  was  the  impetuosity  of  youth, 
rather  than  of  character;  and  one  familiar  with  hia 
career,  ever  thinks  of  him  as  the  stern  and  steady 
Soult.  He  was  more  of  an  Englishman  than  a  French- 
man in  his  natural  character,  and  succeeded  better 
than  most  of  the  other  French  Generals  when  op- 
posed to  English  troops.  But  though  methodical  and 
practical  in  all  his  plans  he  knew  the  value  of  a  head- 
long charge,  and  could  make  it.  Still  he  does  not 
seem  to  rise  with  the  danger  that  surrounds  him,  but 
rather  meets  it  with  the  firmness  of  one  who  has  set- 
tled beforehand  that  it  shall  not  overcome  him.  In 
the  tumult  and  terror  of  a  mighty  battle,  he  moves 
before  us  not  so  much  as  the  genius  of  the  storm  itself, 
as  like  one  who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  take  its? 


MABSHAL     80ULT.  31" 

peltings  with  composure.  He  stands  where  the  tide  of 
battle  flows,  like  a  rock  over  which  the  surge  beats  ii 
vain ;  and  his  calm,  stern  voice,  arrests  the  panic  tha* 
has  begun,  and  turns  the  shaking  ranks  into  walls  of 
iron  before  the  foe. 

He  did  not  possess  that  versatility  of  genius  which 
enabled  Bonaparte  so  frequently  to  tarn  his  very  de- 
feats into  victory — he  depended  rather  on  the  strength 
and  terror  of  the  blow  he  had  planned — and  if  that 
failed,  it  became  him  to  pause  before  he  gave  another. 
Like  the  lion,  he  measured  his  leap  before  he  took  it, 
and  if  he  fell  short,  measured  it  over  again.  But 
with  all  this  coolness  and  forethought,  his  blow  was 
sometimes  sudden  and  deadly  as  a  falling  thunder- 
bolt. A  more  prompt  and  decisive  man  in  action, 
was  not  to  be  found  in  the  army.  As  cool  amid  the 
falling  ranks  and  fire  of  three  hundred  cannon  as  on 
a  parade,  his  onset  was  nevertheless  a  most  terrible 
thing  to  meet.  He  carried  such  an  iron  will  with 
him  into  the  battle,  and  disputed  every  inch  of  ground 
with  such  tenacity  of  purpose,  that  the  courage  of  the 
boldest  gave  way  before  him.  Though  he  performed 
perhaps  fewer  personal  heroic  deeds  than  many 
others,  he  also  committed  fewer  faults.  After  seeing 
him  a  few  times  in  battle,  one  unconsciously  gets 
such  an  opinion  of  his  invincibility,  that  he  never  sees 
his  c  )lumns  moving  to  the  assault,  without  expecting 
sudden  victory,  or  one  of  the  most  terrific  struggles 
to  which  brave  men  are  ever  exposed.  We  do  not 
expect  the  pomp  and  splendour  of  one  of  Murat's 
charges  of  cavalry,  nor  the  majesty  of  Key's  mighty 
columns,  as  he  hurls  them  on  the  foe ,  but  the  firm 
step,  and  stern  purpose,  and  resistless  onset  of  one 
who  lets  his  naked  deeds  report  his  power.  SouJt's 


312  CHARGED     \flTU     RAPACITY. 

eye  measured  a  battle-field  with  the  correctness  01 
Napoleon's,  and  his  judgment  was  as  good  upon  a 
drawn  battle  as  upon  a  victoiy.  Not  having  those 
fluctuations  of  feeling  to  which  more  excitable  tern- 
perm  en  ts  are  subject,  a  defeat  produced  no  discour- 
agement, and  hence  a  victory  gave  the  enemy  no 
moral  power  over  him.  It  was  singular  to  see  in 
what  a  matter-of-fact  way  he  took  a  beating,  and  how 
little  his  confidence  in  himself  was  destroyed  by  the 
greatest  disasters.  A  man  that  is  not  humbled  or 
rendered  fearful  by  defeat,  can  never  be  conquered  till 
he  is  slain. 

Soult  possessed  a  strong  mind  and  a  great  charac- 
ter and  in  his  military  life  the  warrior  sinks  before  the 
man  of  intellect,  and  even  British  pride  condescend* 
to  render  him  homage  as  an  able  and  great  comman- 
der. 

He  has  been  charged  with  rapacity  while  in  Spain, 
and  his  plunders  commented  freely  on  by  his  enemies, 
but  the  charge  has  never  been  clearly  made  out.  Still, 
there  is  no  doubt  he  did  not  let  the  wealth  the  chances 
of  war  flung  into  his  hands,  slip  through  his  fingers ; 
and  he  managed,  amid  all  his  tergiversations,  and  from 
all  the  changes  he  passed  through,  to  acquire  large  es- 
tates, which  now  enable  him  to  support  his  rank  with 
splendour. 

Soult  was  not  cruel  in  his  disposition,  and  exhibits 
Lone  of  the  ferocity  of  the  warrior  in  his  career.  A 
bold,  skilful  and  inflexible  man  in  the  field,  he  ranka 
a  oiong  the  first  of  Napoleon's  Marshals. 

Napoleon,  who,  after  the  battle  of  Marengo,  had 
asked  Massena  if  Sonlt  really  deserved  his  high  repu- 
tation, and  on  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  had 
attached  him  to  his  person — gave  him  command  of 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  313 

the  army  at  Boulogne,  and  afterwards  made  him 
Marshal  of  the  Empire — soon  after  tested  his  great 
qualities  at  the 

BATTLE   OF   AU8TERLITZ. 

Jt  was  in  the  latter  part  of  November  (1805)  thai 
Kapoleon,  on  riding  over  the  country  around  Auster- 
litz,  determined  to  make  it  the  battle-field  on  which  he 
would  overthrow  the  combined  armies  of  Austria  and 
Russia.  Rapidly  concentrating  his  forces  here,  he  on 
the  last  night  of  November,  found  himself  at  the  head 
of  nearly  eighty  thousand  men.  His  army  was  drawn 
up  in  a  plain,  with  the  right  resting  on  Lake  Hce- 
nitz,  and  the  left  six  miles  distant  on  a  hill,  which 
was  covered  with  artillery.  Two  little  streams 
flowed  past  the  army  into  the  lake,  bordered  with 
marshes  to  protect  it,  while  on  a  high  slope  was 
pitched  the  Emperor's  tent,  overlooking  the  whole 
scene.  Opposite  the  French  army  was  a  waving 
line  of  heights,  the  highest  of  which,  Mount  Prat- 
zen,  a  few  miles  distant,  formed  the  centre  of  the 
allied  forces,  numbering  ninety  thousand  men,  com- 
manded by  the  Emperors  of  Russia  and  Austria  in 
person.  Under  Soult,  was  placed  the  finest  corps  in 
the  army,  for  the  weight  of  the  battle  was  designed  to 
rest  on  him,  and  the  heights  of  Pratzen,  forming  the 
enemy's  centre,  were  to  be  his  field  of  combat. 

Napoleon  had  been  on  horseback  all  day  long, 
and  after  dark  was  riding  along  the  lines  previous 
to  his  departure  to  his  tent,  when  the  news  of  hia 
approach  spread  like  lightning  through  the  whole 
army.  Suddenly  the  soldiers  seized  the  bundles  of 
straw  that  had  been  supplied  them  for  their  beds,  and 

lighting  them  at  one  end  lifted  them  on  poles  over 
18 


314        ILLUMINATION     OF    THE     3O1DIERS. 

their  heads,  making  an  illumination  as  splendid  as  it 
was  unexpected.  All  along  through  the  valley  those 
blazing  torches  lighted  the  path  of  the  astonished  Na- 
poleon— the  first  anniversary  of  his  coronation.  Sud- 
denly the  enthusiastic  shout  of  Vive  1'Empereur,  burst 
around  him.  The  cry  was  caught  by  the  next  and 
the  next  battalion  as  he  advanced,  and  prolonged  by 
those  he  had  left,  till  the  shout  of  that  immense  host 
filled  all  the  valley,  and  rose  like  the  roar  of  the  sea 
over  the  heights,  miles  away — falling,  with  an  omi- 
nous sound,  on  the  camp  of  the  enemy.  It  was  a 
scene  that  baffles  description.  Those  myriad  torches, 
blazing  and  swinging  to  and  fro  in  the  darkness — a 
broad  mass  of  flame  losing  itself  in  the  distance — and 
the  shout  of  that  army,  rolling  in  such  deafening  ac- 
cents after  Napoleon,  formed  together  a  far  more  im- 
posing ceremony  than  his  coronation  in  the  Capital. 

Next  morning,  at  four  o'clock,  Napoleon  was  on 
horseback  beside  his  tent.  The  moon  had  just  gone 
down< — the  stars  shone  pale  and  tremulous  in  the  sky, 
and  all  was  silent  and  tranquil  around  him.  Not  a 
sound  broke  from  the  immense  host  that  slumbered 
below,  over  which  the  motionless  fog  lay  like  a  white 
covering — or  it  might  be  a  shroud  in  anticipation  ol 
the  thousands  that  ere  night  would  there  lie  stark  and 
Btiff  in  their  last  sleep.  But  amid  this  deep  hush 
bis  quick  ear  caught  a  low  continuous  sound  be- 
yond the  heights  of  Pratzen,  like  the  heavy  tread 
of  marching  columns  and  rumbling  of  artillery  car- 
nages over  the  ground.  The  deep  murmur  passed 
steadily  from  right  to  left,  showing  that  the  alliea 
were  gathering  their  force  against  his  right  wing. 
At  length  the  sun  rose  slowly  above  the  horizon,  ting- 
ing with  gold  the  heights  of  Pratzen,  on  which  were 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  315 

seen  moving  dense  masses  of  infantry,  and  pcnired  its 
glorious  light  over  the  sea  of  mist  that  slept  in  the 
valleys  below.  It  was  the  "$wn  of  Austerlitz"  The 
hour,  the  scene — the  immense  results  at  stake,  and 
the  sudden  bursting  of  that  blazing  fire  ball  on  his 
vision,  made  a  profound  impression  on  Napoleon,  which 
he  never  forgot. 

The  allies,  intent  on  outflanking  the  French,  were 
weakening  their  centre  by  drawing  off  the  troops  to  tho 
left.  The  Marshals  who  stood  around  the  Emperor  saw 
the  fault  of  the  enemy,  and  eagerly  asked  permission 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  But  he  turning  to  Soult, 
whose  troops  were  massed  in  the  bottom  of  the  valley 
near  the  heights,  covered  by  the  fog,  asked  him  how 
long  it  would  take  to  reach  the  summit  of  Pratzen. 
"Less  than  twenty  minutes,"  replied  the  Marshal. 
"  Wait  a  little,  then,"  said  Napoleon,  "  when  the  enemy 
is  making  a  false  movement,  it  is  necessary  to  be  care- 
ful not  to  interrupt  him."  It  was  now  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  soon  after  he  gave  the  impatiently 
expected  signal,  and  Murat,  Laniies,  Bernadotte,  and 
Soult,  who  had  stood  around  him,  parted  like  lightning 
from  his  side,  and  swept  in  a  headlong  gallop  to  their  re- 
spective corps.  Napoleon  rode  towards  the  centre,  and 
as  he  passed  through  the  troops,  said,  "Soldiers!  the 
enemy  has  imprudently  exposed  himself  to  your 
strokes.  Finish  the  campaign  by  a  clap  of  thunder  /" 
"  Vive  TEmpereur"  answered  him  in  one  long,  pro- 
tracted shout. 

In  the  meantime,  Sonlt  emerged,  with  his  strong  bat- 
talions, from  the  covering  mist,  and  clothed  in,  the  rich 
Bunlight,  ascended  with  an  intrepid  step,  the  slopes  of 
Pratzen.  It  was  a  magnificent  sight,  and  Napoleon 
watched  with  intense  anxiety  the  advance  of  tha\ 


316      STORMS     THE     HEIGHTS     OF     PRATZEN. 

splendid  array.  With  banners  fluttering  in  the  inorn 
ing  sunlight,  and  drums  and  trumpets  rending  the  air, 
the  massive  columns  streamed  upward  and  onward 
In  a  moment  the  top  of  Pratzen  was  covered  with 
smoke,  from  whose  bosom  issued  thunder  and  lightning, 
as  if  a  volcano  was  there  hurling  its  fiery  fragments  in 
the  air.  Covered  from  sight,  those  two  hosts — mixed  in 
mortal  combat — struggled  for  the  mastery,  while  the 
curtain  of  smoke  that  folded  them  in,  waved  to  and  fro, 
and  rent  before  the  heavy  artillery,  and  closed  again, 
and  rolled  in  rapid  circles  round  the  hill,  telling  to 
the  armies  below  what  wild  work  the  stern  Soult  was 
making  with  the  foe.  At  length  the  fire  and  smoke, 
which  Pratzen  had  belched  forth  for  two  hours,  grew 
less — the  sulphurous  cloud  lifted  in  the  mid-day  sun. 
and  lo,  there  waved  the  French  standards,  while  a  vic- 
torious shout  went  pealing  over  the  armies  struggling  in 
the  valley. 

Soult,  having  pierced  the  enemy's  centre,  next  de- 
scended on  their  left  wing.  Bessieres  was  charging 
fiercely  below  with  the  Imperial  Guard,  and  the 
whole  field  shook  with  the  shock  of  cavalry  and 
thunder  of  cannon ;  while  the  entire  valley  was  filled 
with  rolling  smoke,  in  which  were  moving  dark  masses 
of  infantry.  There  was  Murat,  with  his  headlong 
valour,  and  Lannes,  Davoust  and  Augereau,  strewing 
the  fields  with  the  dead.  At  length,  help  being  sent  to 
Soult — the  left  of  the  enemy  was  borne  away,  and  the 
allied  army  routed.  Fleeing  before  the  victorious  Mar- 
shal, Buxhowden  bravely  attempted  to  cover  the  re- 
treat, and  forming  his  men  into  close  column,  strove 
gallantly  to  direct  the  reversed  tide  of  battle.  But 
pierced  through  and  trodden  under  foot,  seven  thousand 
(ell  before  the  victorious  French,  while  the  remaiudei 


MARSHAL,     SOULT.  317 

attempted  to  escape  by  crossing  a  frozen  lake  near  by 
with  the  artillery  and  cavalry.  In  a  moment  the 
white  frozen  surface  was  covered  with  dark  masses  oi 
infantry,  amid  which  were  seen  the  carefully  advancing 
squadrons  of  cavalry.  Pressed  by  the  enormous  weight, 
the  ice  could  scarcely  sustain  the  multitude,  when  Soult 
suddenly  ordered  his  cannon  to  play  upon  it.  The  iron 
storm  crushed  through  the  yielding  mass — the  whole 
gave  way,  and  with  one  terrific  yell,  that  rose  over  the 
tumult  of  battle,  more  than  two  thousand  men  sunk  to 
rise  no  more.  Amid  the  swimming  multitude,  the 
frighted  cavalry-horses  plunged  to  and  fro,  while  on 
the  struggling  mass  the  artillery  continued  to  play  with 
deadly  precision. 

On  the  left,  Bernadotte,  Murat  and  Lannes,  were 
equally  successful,  and  the  bloody  battle  of  Austerlitz 
was  won.  Nearly  thirty  thousand  bodies  strewed  the 
field,  and  when  night  again  closed  over  the  scene,  Na- 
poleon, weakened  only  by  twelve  thousand  men,  saw 
his  menaced  throne  firmly  established.  Soult  was  the 
hero  of  the  day,  and  after  the  battle  was  over,  Napo- 
leon rode  up  to  him  and  said,  in  presence  of  all  his  staff, 
"  Marshal  Soult,  I  consider  you  the  ablest  tactician  in 
my  Empire." 

Bonaparte  never  forgot  the  brilliant  conduct  of  his 
Marshal  on  this  occasion,  and  years  afterwards,  when 
he  was  told  that  the  latter  was  aiming  at  the  tlirone 
of  Portugal,  he  made  known  to  him  that  he  had  heard 
the  report,  but  added,  "  I  remember  nothing  but  Aus- 
tertits." 

But  Soult  exhibited  his  great  qualities  as  a  ccm 
mander  in  his  campaigns  in  Spain.     He  showed  him' 
self  there  superior  as  a  tactician  to  all  the  other  mar- 
shals, except  Suchet :  and  was  more  than  a  match  a? 
18* 


318  r  UK  SUES   SIK   JOHN   MOOBE. 

any  time  for  the  Duke  of  "Wellington.  His  very  first 
movements  convinced  Napoleon  of  his  superior  abil« 
ity.  Arriving  together  at  Bayonne,  the  Emperor  im- 
mediately planned  the  campaign,  and  issued  his  or- 
ders. Soult  was  ordered  to  supercede  Bessieres  in  the 
command  of  the  second  corps,  in  the  path  of  which 
Napoleon,  with  his  Imperial  Guard,  designed  to  follow. 
La  a  few  hours  after  he  received  his  orders,  Soult's  army 
was  in  motion.  In  fifty  hours  he  travelled  from 
Bayonne  to  Burgos — took  the  latter  town,  gained  the 
battle  of  Gamonal ;  and  still  on  the  post  horse  he  had 
mounted  at  Briviesca,  where  he  took  command  of  the 
army — pushed  on  his  columns  in  every  direction ;  and 
in  a  few  days  laid  prostrate  the  whole  north  of  Spain. 
Following  up  his  successes,  he  marched  against  Sir 
John  Moore,  and  forcing  him  back,  step  by  step,  for  a 
fortnight,  across  rivers,  and  through  mountains  covered 
with  snow,  finally  drove  him  into  Corunna.  There 
the  English  commander  fortified  himself,  to  await  the 
transports  that  had  been  ordered  round  to  receive  his 
army.  Soult  opened  his  cannon  on  the  place,  and 
with  his  weary  troops  pressed  his  assaults  vigorously, 
in  the  hope  of  forcing  the  English  army  to  surrender 
before  the  arrival  of  the  expected  vessels.  But  Sir 
John  Moore  resolved  to  combat  to  the  last,  and  pre- 
pared for  a  final  battle.  In  the  mean  time,  to  prevent 
an  immense  magazine  of  powder  of  four  thousand  bar- 
rels from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  French,  he  or- 
dered it  to  be  blown  up.  A  smaller  quantity  in  a  store- 
house near  it  was  first  fired.  The  explosion  of  this 
was  like  the  discharge  of  a  thousand  cannon  at  once ,' 
but  when  the  great  magazine  took  fire  and  those 
four  thousand  barrels  exploded  at  once,  the  towt 
rocked  to  and  fro  as  if  an  earthquake  was  lift 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  319 

lag  its  foundations.  Rocks  were  upturned  by  the 
shock,  the  ships  in  the  harbour  rose  and  fell  on  the 
sudden  billows  that  swept  under  them ;  while  a  sound 
like  the  crash  of  nature  itself,  startled  the  two  armies 
as  it  rolled  away  before  the  blast. 

At  length  the  transports  arrived,  and  the  embarka 
tion  commenced  while  Soult  advanced  to  the  attack. 
The  battle  soon  became  general,  and  Sir  John  Moore, 
while  watching  the  progress  of  the  fight,  was  struck 
by  a  cannon  ball  on  the  breast,  and  hurled  from  his 
horse.  Rallying  his  energies,  he  sat  up  on  the  ground, 
and  without  a  movement  or  an  expression  of  pain,  again 
fixed  his  eye  on  the  conflict.  Seeing  that  his  men 
were  gaining  ground,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  car- 
ried to  the  rear.  At  the  first  glance  it  was  plain  that 
the  ghastly  wound  was  mortal.  "The  shoulder  was 
shattered  to  pieces,  the  arm  was  hanging  by  a  piece 
of  the  skin,  the  ribs  over  the  heart  were  broken,  and 
bared  of  the  flesh,  and  the  muscles  of  the  breast  torn 
into  long  strips,  which  were  interlaced  by  their  recoil 
from  the  dragging  of  the  shot.  As  the  soldiers  placed 
him  in  a  blanket,  his  sword  got  entangled,  and  the 
hilt  entered  the  wound;  Captain  llardinge,  a  staff 
officer,  who  was  near,  attempted  to  take  it  off,  but  the 
dying  man  stopped  him  saying,  '  It  is  well  as  it  is.  1 
had  rather  it  should  go  out  of  the  field  with  me."1 " 
Thus  was  the  hero  borne  from  the  field  of  battle.  He 
died  before  night,  and  was  buried  in  the  citadel  oi 
Corunna — the  thunder  of  Soult's  guns  being  the 
mournful  salute  fired  above  his  grave.  Actuated  by 
a  noble  feeling,  the  brave  Marshal  erected  a  monu- 
ment to  him  on  the  spot  where  he  fell. 

The   great    ability    which  Soult   exhibited   in    this 
pursuit,    caused   ISTapo.eon    to  rely  on  him  chiefly  ii. 


820  STORMING     OF     OPORTO. 

those  operations  removed  from  his  personal  observa 
tion,  and  he  was  ordered  to  invade  Portugal.  In  the 
midst  of  the  rainy  season,  he  set  out  from  Corunna, 
and  against  the  most  overwhelming  obstacles,  steadilj 
and  firmly  pursued  his  way,  until  at  length  he  ar- 
rived at  Oporto,  and  sat  down  before  the  city. 

STORMING   OF   OPORTO. 

A  summons  to  surrender  being  disregarded,  he 
waited  for  the  morning  to  carry  the  place  by  assault. 
But,  at  midnight  a  terrific  thunder-storm  arose ;  the 
clouds  in  dark  and  angry  masses  swept  the  heavens ; 
the  wind  blew  with  frightful  fury,  and  the  alarmed 
inhabitants,  mistaking  the  roar  of  the  blast  for  the 
tread  of  the  advancing  armies,  set  all  their  bells 
ringing,  while  two  hundred  cannon  suddenly  opened 
into  the  storm,  and  one  fierce  fire  of  musketry  swept 
the  whole  circuit  of  the  entrenchments.  The  loud 
and  rapid  ringing  of  so  many  bells  in  the  midst  of  the 
midnight  storm — the  thunder  of  cannon  replying  to 
the  thunders  of  heaven,  as  clap  after  clap  broke  over 
the  city — the  fierce  lightning  outshining  the  flash  of 
musketry — the  roar  of  the  wind  and  the  confused  cries 
of  the  inhabitants,  as  they  rushed  by  thousands 
through  the  streets,  combined  to  render  it  a  scene  of 
indescribable  sublimity  and  terror.  The  French 
stood  to  their  arms,  wondering  what  this  strange  up- 
roar meant. 

But  at  length  the  morning  broke  serene  and  clear, 
and  the  waving  of  standards  in  the  air,  the  beat  of 
drums,  and  the  loud  strains  of  the  trumpets  told  the 
inhabitants  that  Soult  was  finally  leading  his  strong 
battalions  to  the  assault.  After  an  obstinate  strug 
gle,  the  entrenchments  were  carried  at  all  points 


MAK8HA.L     bOULT.  321 

aud  the  victorious  army  burst  with  loud  shouts  intc 
the  city.  The  routed  army  divided  ;  a  part  fled  to- 
wards the  fort  of  St.  Jao,  the  remainder  towards  the 
mouth  of  the  Douro,  in  the  hopeless  attempt  to  crose 
by  boats  or  by  swimming.  Their  general,  while  ex- 
postulating with  them  on  the  madness  of  the  effort, 
was  shot  by  them  in  presence  of  the  enemy,  and  the 
terror-stricken  host  rushed  head-long  into  the  river,  and 
were  almost  to  a  man  drowned. 

But  the  battle  still  raged  within  the  city,  and  the 
barricades  of  the  streets  being  forced  open,  more  than 
four  thousand  men,  women,  and  children  went  pouring 
in  one  disordered  mass,  to  the  single  bridge  of  boats 
that   crossed  the  river.     But,   as  if  the   frenzy,  and 
tumult,  and  carnage  were  not  yet  sufficiently  great,  just 
then  a  defeated  troop  of  Portuguese  cavalry  came  in  a 
wild  gallop  down  the  street,  and  with  remorseless  fury 
burst  through  the  shrieking  multitude,  trampling  aLI 
ages  and  sexes  under  their  feet.     Clearing  a  bloody 
pathway  for  themselves,  they  rushed  on  to  the  bridge, 
followed    by   the    frantic    crowd.      The    boats    sunk, 
and  where  they  went  down,  floated  a  dense  mass  of 
human  bodies,   filling  all  the  space   between.      The 
French  soldiers  as  they  came  up,  struck  with  amaze- 
ment at  the  sight,   forgot  the  work   of   death,   and 
throwing   down   their  muskets,  nobly  strained   every 
nerve  to  save   the  sinking  throng.     Meanwhile   the 
city   rung   with  fire-arms   and   shrieks  of  the   dying, 
Frantic   as  soldiers   ever  are  in   sacking  a  city,  they 
were  made  doubly  so  by  a  spectacle  that  met  them  ID 
one  of  the  public  squares.     There,  fastened   upright, 
were  several  of  their  comrades,  who  had  been  taken 
prisoners — their  eyes  burst  asunder,  their  tongues  tor« 
out,  and  their  whole  bodies  mutilateJ ;  in  which  the 


322  HIS     BXTBEAT. 

breath  of  life  still  remained.  Fierce  cries  of  reveng* 
now  blent  with  the  shouts  of  victory.  The  officers  lost 
all  control,  though  they  mingled  with  the  soldiero,  and 
by  their  voice  and  efforts,  strove  to  stay  the  carnage 
and  violence.  Their  efforts  were  in  vain,  and  even  the 
authority  of  Soult  was,  for  a  while,  no  more  than 
threads  of  gossamer,  before  the  maddened  passions  of 
ihe  soldiers.  Ten  thousand  Portuguese  fell  in  this 
single  assault,  and  the  streets  of  Oporto  ran  blood. 
Only  five  hundred  Frenchmen  were  slain. 

This  sanguinary  affair  being  over,  Soult  immediately 
established  order,  and  by  his  vigorous  measures,  great 
kindness,  and  humanity,  so  won  the  esteem  of  the  For' 
tuguese,  that  addresses  came  pouring  in  upon  him  from 
all  quarters,  and  offers  were  made  him  of  the  throne  of 
Portugal. 

But  this  brilliant  opening  of  his  campaign  was  dear 
tined  soon  to  meet  with  sad  reverses.     A  large  Eng- 
lish force,   unknown   to   him,   had    assembled  in  hia 
vicinity,  and  was  rapidly  marching  against  him.     In 
the  mean  time,  treason  in  his  own  camp  began  to  show 
itself.     Many  of   the  French  officers  had  resolved  to 
deliver  the  army  into  the  hands  of  the  English.    Thia 
conspiracy  extending  more  or  less  through  the  different 
armies  in  the  peninsula,  was  set  on  foot  to  overthrow 
Napoleon.     It  was   a  long  time  before  Soult  could 
fathom  these  secret  machinations.      His  own   forcea 
— their  position   and   destination,   were  all  known  to 
the  English ;   while  he  was  left  in  utter  uncertainty 
of  their  strength  and  plans.     But  at  length  his  eyes 
were  opened,  and  lie  saw  at  once  the   appalling  dan- 
gers which  surrounded  him.     It  was  then  he  exhibited 
the   immense    energy   and   strength   of  character  he 
possessed.     An  abyss  had  opened  under  his  feet,  but 
he  stood  and  looked  into  its  impenetrable  depths  witb 


MARSHAL    80ULT.  323 

out  a  shudder.  Not  knowing  whom  to  trust — almost 
enveloped  by  a  superior  enemy,  he  nevertheless  took 
Ilia  decision  with  the  calmness  of  a  great  mind.  Com- 
pelled to  fall  back,  he  escaped  as  by  a  miracle  th.3 
grasp  of  the  enemy,  and  once  more  entered  Oporto. 
Compelled  to  abandon  the  city,  he  continued  to  fall 
back,  resting  his  hope  on  Loison,  whom  he  had  or- 
dered to  hold  Amaronte.  But  that  general  had 
departed,  leaving  his  command  er-in -chief  to  destruc- 
tion. Sotilt  heard  of  this  new  calamity  at  midnight, 
j  ust  after  he  had  crossed  the  Souza  river.  The  news 
spread  through  the  dismayed  army,  and  insubordina- 
tion broke  forth,  and  voices  were  heard  calling  for  a 
capitulation.  But  Soult  rose  calmly  above  the  storm, 
and  learning  from  a  Spanish  pedlar  that  there  was  a 
by-path  across  the  mountains,  instantly  resolved  to 
lead  his  troops  over  it.  The  treacherous  and  discon- 
tented were  alike  paralyzed  by  his  firmness,  and  saw 
without  a  movement  of  resistance  all  the  artillery  and 
baggage  destroyed ;  and  with  their  muskets  on  their 
shoulders  started  over  the  mountains,  and  finally 
effected  a  junction  with  the  retreating  Loison.  No- 
thing can  be  more  sublime  than  the  bearing  of  Soult  in 
this  retreat.  Superior  to  treason — to  complaints  and 
danger,  he  moved  at  the  head  of  his  distracted  army 
with  a  firmness  and  constancy  that  awed  rebellion,  and 
crushed  all  opposition. 

Instead  of  retreating  on  the  high  road,  which  must 
have  ensured  his  destruction,  he  commanded  that  all 
the  artillery  of  Loison's  corps  also  should  be  destroyed 
in  presence  of  the  army.  Knowing  when  to  sacrifice, 
and  doing  it  with  an  inflexibility  of  purpose  that 
quelled  resistance,  he  bent  his  great  energies  on  the 
salvation  of  his  army.  Taking  again  to  the  moun 


324:  B  K  A  \  K  R  Y     OF     MAJOE     DULONQ. 

tains  lie  gained  a  day's  march  on  his  pursuers.  Re« 
organizing  his  ill-conditioned  army,  he  took  command 
of  the  rear-guard  himself;  and  thus  kept  his  stern  eye 
on  the  enemy,  while  the  mutinous  and  traitorous  wero 
held  before  him,  and  in  reach  of  his  certain  stroke. 
Thus  retreating,  the  despoiled,  starving  army  at  length 
approached  the  river  Cavado,  when  word  was  brought 
the  Marshal,  that  the  peasantry  were  destroying  the 
only  bridge  across  it.  Should  they  succeed,  the  last 
hour  of  his  army  had  struck ;  for  there  it  must  halt, 
and  by  morning  the  English  guns  would  be  thunder- 
ing on  his  rear,  while  he  had  not  a  single  cannon  tc 
answer  them.  The  abyss  opened  wider  beneath  him, 
but  over  his  marble  features  passed  no  shadow  of 
fear.  Calling  Major  Dulong  to  him — the  bravest  man 
in  his  ranks — he  told  him  the  enemy  were  destroying 
the  bridge  across  the  river  ahead,  and  he  had  chosen 
him  out  of  the  whole  army  to  save  it.  He  ordered  him 
to  pick  out  a  hundred  grenadiers,  and  twenty-five 
horsemen,  and  surprise  the  guard,  and  secure  the 
passage.  "  If  you  succeed,"  said  he,  "  send  me  word ; 
but  if  you  fail,  send  none — your  silence  will  be  suffi- 
cient." One  would  be  glad  to  know  what  the  last  des- 
perate resolution  of  that  iron-willed  commander  was, 
should  silence  follow  the  bold  undertaking  of  the  brave 
Dulong 

He  departed ;  while  Soult  waited  with  painful 
anxiety  the  result.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents — the  wind 
went  howling  fiercely  by,  and  midnight  blackness 
wrapped  the  drenched  and  staggering  army,  as  they 
stood  barefoot  and  unsheltered  in  the  storm.  After  F 
long  and  painful  suspense,  a  messenger  arrived.  "  The 
bridge  is  won,"  fell  on  Soult's  ear  like  hope  on 
the  dying.  A  flash  of  joy  passed  over  his  inflexible 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  82* 

features ;  for  he  still  might  escape  the  pain  of  a  surrender. 
The  bold  Dulong,  with  his  strong  grenadiers,  covered 
by  the  darkness,  had  reached  the  bridge  unseen,  and 
slain  the  sentinel  before  he  could  utter  a  cry  of  alarm. 
But  what  a  sight  met  their  eyes !  The  swollen  river 
went  roaring  and  foaming  by,  over  which  only  a  nar- 
row strip  of  mason-work  was  seen — the  wreck  of  the 
destroyed  bridge.  Nothing  daunted,  Dulong  advanced 
on  to  the  slender  fragment,  and  with  twelve  grenadiers 
at  his  back,  began  to  crawl  along  his  perilous  path. 
One  grenadier  slipped,  and  fell  with  a  sudden  plunge 
into  the  torrent  below.  But  the  wind  and  the  waves 
together  drowned  his  shriek,  and  the  remaining  eleven 
passed  in  safety,  and  fell  with  a  shout  on  the  affrighted 
peasantry,  who  immediately  turned  and  fled.  The 
bridge  was  repaired,  and  by  daylight  the  heads  of  the 
column  were  marching  over.  Soult  had  not  a  moment 
to  spare,  for  the  English  cannon  had  already  opened 
on  his  rear-guard. 

But  no  sooner  was  this  bridge  passed,  than  another — • 
flying  with  a  single  arch  over  a  deep  gulf,  and  called 
the  Saltador,  or  Leaper — rose  before  him,  defended  by 
several  hundred  Portuguese.  Only  three  men  could 
move  abreast  over  this  lofty  arch,  and  two  attempts 
to  carry  it  were  repulsed,  when  the  brave  Dulong  ad- 
vanced and  swept  it  with  his  strong  grenadiers,  though 
he  himself  fell  in  the  assault,  dreadfully  wounded. 

The  army  was  saved  and  by  the  courageous  energy, 
skill,  and  heroism  of  its  commander;  and  at  length  en- 
tered Orense  barefooted,  without  ammunition,  baggage, 
or  a  single  cannon. 

Soult  has  been  blamed  for  his  management  at  the 
outset  of  this  retreat,  especially  for  being  surprised,  as 

he  was,  at   Oporto ;  but  let  one,  surrounded  by  con 
19 


326  HIS     M1LITAKY    TALENTS. 

spirators,  and  uncertain  whom  to  trust  among  his  ofli- 
cers,  do  better,  or  show  that  any  leader  has  acted  more 
worthily,  in  similai  circumstances,  before  exceptions  aro 
taken. 

It  would  be  uninteresting  to  follow  Soult  through  ail 
his  after  operations  in  Spain.  Napoleon  had  gone, 
and  between  the  quarrelling  of  the  rival  chiefs,  and 
the  imbecility  of  Joseph,  affairs  were  not  managed 
with  the  greatest  wisdom.  Soult  was  crippled  in  all 
his  movements — his  sound  policy  neglected,  and  his 
best  combinations  thwarted  by  Joseph.  The  disas- 
trous battle  of  Talavera  was  fought  in  direct  opposi- 
tion to  his  advice ;  nevertheless,  he  soon  after  had  the 
pleasure  of  chasing  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley  out  of  Spain. 
His  operations  in  Andalusia  and  Estramadura,  and 
ihe  firmness  with  which  he  resisted  the  avarice  of 
Joseph,  all  exhibited  his  well-balanced  character.  In 
Andalusia  he  firmly  held  his  ground,  although  hedged 
in  with  hostile  armies,  and  surrounded  by  an  insur- 
gent population,  while  a  wide  territory  had  to  be 
covered  with  his  troops.  His  vast  and  skilful  combi- 
nations, during  this  period,  show  the  powerful  intel- 
lect he  brought  to  the  task  before  him.  King  Joseph 
could  not  comprehend  the  operations  of  such  a 
mind  as  Soult's,  and  constantly  impeded  his  success. 
When,  without  ruin  to  the  army,  the  stubborn  Marshal 
might  yield  to  his  commands,  he  did ;  but  where  tho 
King's  projects  would  plunge  him  into  irredeemable 
errore,  he  openly  and  firmly  withstood  him.  The  anger 
and  threats  of  Joseph  were  alike  in  vain ;  the  inflexible 
old  soldier  professed  his  willingness  to  obey,  but  de- 
clared he  would  not,  with  his  eyes  open,  commit  a 
great  military  blunder.  King  Joseph  would  despatch 
loud  and  vehement  complaints  to  Napoleon,  but  tho 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  327 

Emperor  knew  too  well  the  ability  of  Soult  to  heed 
them.  Had  the  latter  been  on  the  Spanish  throne, 
instead  of  Joseph,  the  country  would  long  before  have 
been  subdued,  and  the  French  power  established. 

But  it  would  be  impossible,  without  going  into  the 
entire  complicated  history  of  the  Peninsular  war,  to 
give  any  correct  idea  of  the  prodigious  efforts  he  put 
f  Drth — of  his  skillful  combinations,  or  of  the  military 
genius  he  exhibited,  in  his  successful  career.  Yet, 
arduous  as  was  the  duty  assigned  him,  he  drove 
Wellington  out  of  the  country ;  and  though  fettered  by 
the  foolish  orders  of  a  foolish  king,  maintained  French 
power  in  Spain  till  he  was  recalled  to  steady  Napo- 
leon's trembling  throne  in  Germany.  Cautious  in 
attack,  yet  terrible  in  his  onset,  and  endless  in  his  re- 
sources when  beaten,  no  General  could  have  accom- 
plished more  than  he,  and  he  adopted  the  only  method 
that  could  at  all  be  successful  in  the  kind  of  war  ho 
was  compelled  to  wage. 

The  bloodiest  battle  during  the  Peninsular  war,  was 
fought  by  Soult,  and  lost  in  the  very  moment  of  victory. 
In  May,  1811,  he  rapidly  concentrated  his  forces,  and 
moving  from  Seville,  advanced  on  Beresford,  occupying 
the  heights  before  Albuera. 

BATTLE   OF  ALBUERA. 

Soult  had  twenty-one  thousand  men  under  him, 
while  the  Spanish  and  English  armies  together  num- 
bered over  thirty  thousand.  The  French  Marshal, 
however,  relying  on  the  steadiness  and  bravery  of  his 
troops,  and  not  reckoning  the  Spaniards  at  more  tlum 
half  their  numerical  strength,  resolved  to  give  battle. 
The  allies  were  stationed  along  a  ridge,  three  niiiea 
in  extent.  The  action  commenced  by  an  attack  oi 
French  cavalry,  but  soon  Soult's  massive  columns 


328  BATTLE     OF     ALBUEBA. 

began  to  move  over  the  field  and  ascend,  with  a  firm 
step,  the  opposing  heights.  The  artillery  opened  on 
the  heads  of  those  columns  with  terrible  precision, 
but  their  batteries  replied  with  such  rapidity,  that  they 
seemed  moving  volcanoes  traversing  the  field  of  death. 
Amid  the  charges  of  infantry,  the  shocks  of  cavalry, 
and  the  carnage  of  the  batteries,  they  continued  to 
press  on,  while  their  advancing  fire  spread  like  an 
ascending  conflagration  up  the  hill.  Every  thing 
went  down  in  their  passage.  Over  infantry,  artillery, 
and  cavalry  they  passed  on  to  the  summit  of  the 
heights.  Beresford,  in  this  crisis  of  the  battle,  ordered 
up  the  British  divisions  from  the  centre.  These,  too, 
were  overborne  and  trampled  under  foot — the  heights 
won — the  battle,  to  all  appearance,  gained,  and  Beres- 
ford was  preparing  to  retreat. 

Suddenly  an  English  oiScer,  Colonel  Hardinge,  took 
the  responsibility  of  ordering  up  a  division  not  yet  en- 
gaged, and  Abercromby  with  his  reserve  brigade. 
These  advancing  with  a  firm  and  intrepid  step,  in  faco 
of  the  victorious  enemy,  arrested  the  disorder,  and  began 
to  pour  a  destructive  fire  on  the  dense  masses  of  Soult. 
His  columns  had  penetrated  so  far  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  army,  that  not  only  their  front,  but  their  entire 
flanks  were  exposed  to  a  most  severe  fire.  Thus  did 
Macdonald  press  into  the  Austrian  lines,  and  taking 
the  cross  fire  of  the  enemy's  batteries,  see  his  mighty 
columns  dissolve  beside  him.  Soult  endeavoured  to 
deploy  his  men,  so  as  to  return  a  more  effectual  fire. 
But  the  discharges  of  the  enemy  were  so  rapid  and 
close,  that  every  effort  was  in  vain.  The  steady 
ranks  melted  away  before  the  storm,  but  still  refused 
to  yield.  Soult  saw  the  crisis  this  sudden  check  had 
brought  upon  him,  and  strained  every  nerve  to  save 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  329 

die  day.  His  stern  voice  was  heard  above  the 
roar  of  battle,  cheering  on  his  men,  while  he  was 
seen  passing  to  and  fro  through  the  ranks,  encouraging 
them  by  his  gestures  and  example  to  maintain  the  fight. 
Vain  valour.  That  charge  was  like  one  of  Napoleon's 
fmperial  Guards',  and  the  tide  of  battle  was  reversed 
before  it.  Those  brave  British  soldiers  closed  sternly 
on  their  foes  as  in  a  death  struggle.  Says  Napier,  "  In 
vain  did  Soult,  by  voice  and  gesture,  animate  his 
Frenchmen — in  vain  did  the  hardiest  veterans,  extri- 
cating themselves  from  the  crowded  columns,  sacrifice 
their  lives  to  gain  time  for  the  mass  to  open  out  on 
such  a  fair  field ;  in  vain  did  the  mass  itself  bear  up, 
and  fiercely  striving,  fire  indiscriminately  upon  friends 
and  foes,  while  the  horsemen,  hovering  on  the  flank, 
threatened  to  charge  the  advancing  lines.  Nothing 
could  stop  that  astonishing  infantry.  No  sudden 
burst  of  undisciplined  valour,  no  nervous  enthusiasm, 
weakened  the  stability  of  their  order;  their  flashing 
eyes  were  bent  on  the  dark  columns  in  their  front, 
their  measured  tread  shook  the  ground,  their  dreadful 
volleys  swept  away  the  head  of  every  formation, 
their  deafening  shouts  overpowered  the  dissonant 
cries  that  broke  from  all  parts  of  the  tumultuous 
crowd,  as  slowly  and  with  a  horrid  carnage,  it  was 
pushed  by  the  incessant  vigour  of  the  attack  to  the 
farthest  edge  of  the  height.  There  the  French  reserves, 
mixing  with  the  struggling  multitude,  endeavoured  to 
sustain  the  fight,  but  the  effort  only  increased  the 
irremediable  confusion  ;  the  mighty  mass  gave  way, 
and  like  a  loosened  cliff,  went  headlong  down  the  steep. 
The  rain  flowed  after  in  streams,  discoloured  witli 
blood,  and  fifteen  hundred  unwounded  men,  the  renit 


330  DEFEAT     OF     8OULT. 

n<mt  of  six  thousand  unconquerable  British  soldiers^ 
stood  triumphant  on  the  hill" 

The  fight  was  done,  and  fifteen  thousand  ineii  lay 
piled  in  mangled  heaps  along  that  hill  and  in  the  val- 
ley. The  rain  came  down  in  torrents,  and  night  set 
in,  dark  and  gloomy,  over  the  scene  of  conflict.  Bui 
from  the  dreadful  field,  groans  and  cries  arose  through 
the  long  night,  as  the  wounded  writhed  in  their  pain. 
The  pitiless  storm,  and  the  moaning  wind,  and  the 
murky  night,  and  heart-breaking  cries  of  the  suffer- 
ing and  the  dying,  combined  to  render  it  a  scene  ol 
unmingled  terror.  Soult  took  five  hundred  prisoners 
and  several  stand  of  colours,  while  the  British  had 
only  the  bloody  field  for  their  trophy.  The  next  day, 
however,  Soult  still  hung  like  a  thunder  cloud  on  the 
army  of  the  English.  But  they,  having  received  re- 
inforcements, on  the  third  day  he  deemed  it  prudent 
to  retire.  Marmont,  however,  joining  him  soon  after, 
he  again  took  the  offensive,  and  drove  the  English 
before  him,  and  over  the  Spanish  borders. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  the  Marshal  through  his 
chequered  career.  For  five  years  he  struggled  man- 
fully against  the  most  harrassing  obstacles,  and  final- 
ly when  Spain  was  delivered  from  the  enemy,  he  has- 
tened, as  before  remarked,  to  Napoleon,  to  help  him 
stem  the  torrent  that  was  threatening  to  bear  him  away. 
With  his  departure,  victory  also  departed,  and  SOOD 
the  disastrous  battle  of  'Vittoria  threw  Spain  agaii. 
into  the  hands  of  the  English. 

The  appointment  by  Napoleon  of  Soult  to  retrieve 
these  losses,  showed  what  his  opinion  was  of  the  Mar 
shal.  as  a  military  leader.  Not  the  complaints  and 
false  representations  of  his  own  brother,  nor  the  re- 
ports of  rival  generals,  could  blind  his  penetrating 


MARSHAL     SOULT.  331 

eye  to  the  great  ability  of  the  Duke  of  Dalmatia. 
No  higher  eulogy  could  be  passed  on  him  than  this 
single  appointment. 

The  frontiers  of  France  were  threatened  through 
the  passes  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  these  Soult  was  order- 
ed to  defend  to  the  last  extremity.  He  found  at  Bay- 
onne  but  the  fragments  of  the  armies  that  had  battled 
in  Spain,  but  with  his  accustomed  energy,  he  set  about 
their  organization,  and  with  such  untiring  persever- 
ance did  he  work,  that  in  a  fortnight  he  was  ready 
to  take  the  field.  Bearing  down  on  Wellington,  he 
poured  his  strong  columns  like  a  resistless  torrent 
through  the  pass  of  the  Roncesvalles.  The  gorges 
and  precipices  of  the  Pyrenees  rung  to  the  peal  of 
musketry,  the  roll  of  the  drum,  and  the  roar  of  can- 
non, and  Soult's  conquering  troops  broke,  with  the 
shout  of  victors  into  Spain. 

It  was  his  design  to  succour  St.  Sebastiani,  which, 
with  a  small  garrison,  had  withstood  a  long  siege, 
and  been  most  heroically  defended.  But  the  energy 
which  he  had  imparted  to  his  army  was  only  mo- 
mentary. The  soldiers  were  exhausted  and  worn 
down,  and  could  not  be  held  to  the  contest  like  fresh 
troops,  and  Soult  was  compelled  to  retire  before  supe- 
rior force.  The  sudden  abyss  that  had  opened  under 
Wellington,  closed  again,  and  having  repulsed  his 
able  antagonist,  he  sat  down  anew  before  St.  Sebas- 
tiani. Soult  had  given  his  word  to  this  brave  garri- 
BOII  that  if  they  would  hold  out  a  short  time  longer,  he 
would  march  to  their  relief,  and  he  now  set  about  fill 
filling  his  promise,  hopeless  as  the  task  was,  and 
moved  to  within  eight  miles  of  the  place  with  his 
army.  But  the  besiegers,  in  the  meantime,  had  not 
been  idle.  The  siege  was  pressed  vigorously,  and  £ 


332          8TOKMING     OF     ST.     SEBASTIAN  I. 

hundred  and  eighteen  guns  were  dragged  before  the 
doomed  town.  Before  Soult  broke  so  rash  and  sud- 
den through  the  Pyrenees,  Wellington  had  made  an 
ineffectual  assault  on  the  place,  and  though  the  forti- 
fications had  been  weakened  and  many  of  the  housca 
burned,  he  withdrawing  his  forces  to  meet  the  French 
Marshal,  the  garrison  had  a  breathing  spell,  and  made 
good  use  of  their  time  to  repair  their  defences. 

TERRIBLE   ASSAULT  OF    ST.    6EBASTIANI. 

Wellington  at  length  placed  in  battery  sixty 
cannon,  some  of  them  sixty-three  pounders, 
and  began  to  play  on  the  walls.  The  thunder  of 
these  heavy  guns  shook  the  hills  around,  and  was 
echoed  in  sullen  shocks  on  the  ear  of  the  distant 
Soult.  For  four  days  did  this  fierce  volcano  belch 
forth  its  stream  of  fire  against  St.  Sebastiani,  carrying 
terror  and  dismay  to  the  hearts  of  the  inhabitants. 
Nothing  could  withstand  such  batteries,  and  the  iron 
storm  smote  against  the  walls  till  a  frightful  gap  ap- 
peared, furnishing  foothold  for  the  assaulting  com- 
panies. 

St.  Sebastiani  stands  by  the  sea,  with  the  river 
Uremea  flowing  close  under  its  walls,  which  in  low 
tide  can  be  forded.  On  the  farther  side  of  this  river 
were  the  British  troops,  and  on  the  31st  of  August, 
at  half-past  ten,  the  forlorn  hope  took  its  station  in 
the  trenches,  waiting  for  the  ebbing  tide  to  allow 
them  to  cross.  As  this  devoted  band  stood  in  silence 
watching  the  slow  settling  of  the  waters,  they  could 
see  the  wall  they  were  to  mount  lined  with  shells  and 
fire-barrels,  ready  to  explode  at  a  touch,  while 
bayonet-points  gleamed  beyond,  showing  into  wha* 
destruction  they  were  to  move.  Soldiers  hate  tc 


MARSHAL     8OULT.  833 

think,  and  the  suspense  which  they  were  now  forced 
to  endure,  was  dreadful.  These  brave  men  could  rush 
on  death  at  the  sound  of  the  bugle,  but  to  stand  and 
gaze  into  the  very  jaws  of  destruction  till  the  slowly 
retiring  waters  would  let  them  enter,  was  too  much 
for  the  firmest  heart.  Minutes  seemed  lengthened 
into  hours,  and  in  the  still  terror  of  that  delay,  the 
sternest  became  almost  delirious  with  excitement. 
Some  laughed  outright,  not  knowing  what  they  did  ; 
others  shouted  and  sung  ;  while  others  prayed  aloud. 
It  was  a  scene  at  which  the  heart  stands  still. 
The  air  was  hot  and  sulphureous — dark  and  lurid 
thunder-clouds  were  lifting  heavily  above  the  horizon, 
and  the  deep  hush  of  that  assaulting  column  was  ren- 
dered more  awful  by  the  hush  of  nature  which  betokens 
the  coming  tempest. 

Noon  at  length  came — the  tide  was  down,  and  the 
order  to  advance  was  given,  and  that  devoted  band 
moved  to  the  centre  of  the  stream.  A  tempest  of 
grape-shot  and  bullets  scattered  them  like  autumn 
leaves  over  its  bosom,  but  the  survivors  pressed  boldly 
on,  and  reaching  the  opposite  shore,  mounted  the 
breach  and  gained  the  summit.  But  as  they  stood 
amid  the  wasting  fire,  they  hesitated  to  descend  on 
the  farther  side,  for  they  saw  they  must  leap  down 
twelve  feet  to  reach  the  ground  ;  while  the  base  of  the 
wall  bristled  with  sword  blades,  and  pikes,  and  pointed 
weapons  of  every  description,  fastened  upright  in  the 
earth.  While  they  still  delayed  to  precipitate  them- 
selves on  these  steel  points,  the  fire  from  the  inner  ram- 
part swept  them  all  away.  Still  column  after  column 
poured  across  the  river  and  filled  up  the  dreadful  gaps 
made  in  the  ranks  of  their  comrades,  and  crowded 

the   beach,  and  still   the  fierce  volleys  crushed  them 
19* 


834  THE     TOWN     IS     CARRIED 

down,  while  the  few  who  passed  inct  the  bayonet- 
point,  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  heroic  defenders. 
After  two  hours  of  this  murderous  strife,  the  breach 
was  left  empty  of  all  but  the  dead,  and  the  shout  of 
the  French  \vas  heard  in  the  pause  of  the  storm.  IL 
this  crisis,  the  English  soldiers  were  ordered  to  lie  down 
at  the  foot  of  the  ramparts,  while  forty-seven  cannon 
were  brought  to  bear  on  the  high  curtain  within,  from 
whence  the  fire  swept  the  breach.  The  batteries 
opened,  and  the  balls  flying  only  two  feet  over  the 
soldiers'  heads,  crushed  with  resistless  power  through 
the  enemy's  works.  At  this  moment,  an  accident 
completed  what  the  besiegers  had  begun,  and  over- 
whelmed the  defenders.  A  shell,  bursting  amid  the 
hand  grenades,  shells,  trains  of  fire-barrels,  and  all 
kinds  of  explosive  materials  which  the  garrison  had 
laid  along  the  ramparts  for  a  last  defence — the  whole 
took  fire.  A  sheet  of  flame  ran  along  the  walls,  and 
then  the  mouth  of  a  volcano  seemed  to  open,  followed 
by  an  explosion  that  shook  the  city  to  its  foundations, 
Bending  fierce  columns  of  smoke  and  broken  frag- 
ments into  the  air,  and  strewing  the  bodies  of  three 
hundred  French  soldiers  amid  the  ruins.  As  the 
smoke  lifted,  the  assailants  rushed  with  a  deafening 
shout  forward,  and  though  firmly  met  by  the  bayo- 
net, their  increasing  numbers  overwhelmed  every 
obstacle,  and  they  poured  into  the  town.  Soult,  eight 
miles  distant,  had  just  been  defeated  in  attempting  to 
march  to  the  relief  of  the  garrison,  and  from  the  heights 
of  Bidissoa,  heard  that  terrific  explosion  that  followed 
the  cannonading,  and  saw  the  fiercely  ascending 
columns  of  smoke  that  told  that  St.  Sebastiani  wag 
won. 
At  this  moment,  when  the  shouts  of  the  conquer- 


MA.R6HAL     8OULT.  335 

ors,  maddened  by  every  passion  that  makes  man  a 
monster  and  a  fiend,  were  paralyzing  the  hearts  oi 
the  inhabitants  with  fear,  the  long  gathering  thunder 
storm  burst  on  the  town.  Sudden  darkness  wrapped 
every  thing,  through  which  the  lightning  incessantly 
streamed,  followed  by  crash  after  crash  of  thunder, 
till  the  very  heavens  seemed  ready  to  fall.  Amid 
this  stern  language  of  the  skies,  and  war  of  the  ele- 
ments, and  roar  of  the  conflagration  that  fanned  by  the 
tempest,  wrapped  the  dwellings,  scenes  were  trans- 
piring, over  which  history  must  draw  a  veil.  Ra- 
pine, revenge,  drunkenness,  lust,  and  murder,  burst 
forth  without  restraint,  making  a  wilder  hell  than 
man  ever  dreamed  of  before.  The  inhabitants  fled 
from  their  burning  houses,  and  ciowded  into  a  quar- 
ter where  the  flames  had  not  yet  come.  As  men, 
women  and  children,  stood  thus  packed  together,  the 
brutal  soldiery  reeled  and  staggered  around  them, 
firing  into  the  shrieking  mass,  and  plunging  their 
bayonets  into  the  old  and  young  alike.  Lust,  too,  was 
abroad,  and  the  cries  of  violated  women,  mingled  in 
with  the  oaths  and  blasphemies  and  shouts  of  the 
soldiers.  Wives  were  ravished  before  the  eyes  of  their 
husbands,  mothers  in  presence  of  their  daughters,  and 
one  girl  of  seventeen  was  violated  on  the  corpse  of 
hei  mother.  For  three  days  did  the  rapine,  and  mur- 
der, and  cruelty  continue,  and  scenes  were  enacted 
which  may  not  be  described,  and  before  which,  even 
fiends  would  blush.  Such  is  war,  and  such  its  hor- 
rors. 

The  Governor  retreated  to  the  citadel,  and  bravely 
defended  himself  with  a  handful  of  men  for  several 
days,  still  hoping  the  arrival  of  Soult.  But  that  Mar- 
shal had  his  hands  full  to  keep  Wellington  at  bay. 


336  HIS     LAST     BRAVE     STRUGGLE. 

At  length,  compelled  to  retreat,  he  yielded  the  ground 
step  by  step,  fighting  his  way  as  he  went,  lie  de- 
livered the  bloody  battles  of  Bidissoa,  and  Neville,  dis- 
puted the  passage  of  the  Nive,  and  fought  at  St 
Pierre,  worthy  of  a  better  result.  He  showed  a  depth 
of  combination,  an  energy  of  character,  and  a  tenacity 
of  purpose,  seldom  equalled  by  any  General.  Had  hia 
shock  in  battle  been  equal  to  Ney's,  he  would  have 
been  irresistible.  As  it  was,  with  half  the  force 
brought  against  him,  he  baffled  every  eifort  of  the 
enemy  to  overwhelm  him,  and  being  driven  into 
France,  disputed  every  inch  of  his  native  soil  with 
a  heroism  and  patriotism  that  have  rendered  him 
immortal.  Now  enforcing  discipline,  now  encourag- 
ing his  troops  in  the  onset,  and  now  on  foot  at  the 
head  of  the  charging  columns,  perilling  his  life  like 
the  meanest  soldier ;  he  strained  every  nerve  to  resist 
the  advance  of  his  overpowering  adversary.  He  had 
arrived  at  Bayonne,  and  taken  command  of  the  dis- 
organized and  humbled  army  in  July.  Immediately 
organizing  it,  he  broke  like  a  torrent  into  Spain, 
fought  seven  pitched  battles,  lost  thirty  thousand 
men,  and  in  December  was  again  at  Bayonne, 
showing  a  firm  front  to  the  enemy.  For  five  months 
he  had  struggled  against  the  most  overwhelming  ob- 
stacles— fought  with  troops  that  would  have  ruined 
the  cause  of  a  less  stern  General — struck  blows  that 
even  against  the  odds  they  were  directed,  well  nigh 
gave  him  the  victory;  and  amid  the  complaints  oi 
the  soldiers  and  the  desertion  of  his  German  troops, 
never  once  gave  way  to  discouragement.  Self-sus- 
tained and  resolute,  his  iron  will  would  bend  before 
no  reverses,  and  in  that  last  struggle  for  Napoleoc  in 
Spain  and  France,  and  his  masterly  retreat,  ho  has 


MARSHAL     80ULT.  33 

placed  himsell  among  the  first  military  chieftains  of 
the  world.  It  is  true,  he  preferred  a  less  laborious 
field,  and  one  where  constant  defeat  was  not  to  be 
expected,  and  wrote  to  Napoleon,  requesting  to  be 
near  him.  But  no  one  could  supply  his  place,  and  ho 
was  compelled  to  struggle  on.  He  then  submitted  a 
plan  for  the  defence  of  France  to  the  Emperor, 
which  the  latter,  it  seems,  had  not  time  to  attend  to, 
and  instead  of  rendering  aid  to  his  distressed  General, 
drew  away  a  large  force  to  assist  in  the  defence  of 
Paris.  But  Soult  had  served  under  Massena  in  Ge- 
noa, and  knew  how  to  endure.  With  his  army  thiii- 
ned  by  the  demands  of  Napoleon  and  constant  deser- 
tion— in  the  midst  of  a  murmuring  population,  he  bore 
up  with  a  constancy  that  fills  the  mind  with  wonder 
and  admiration.  To  his  requests  for  help,  Napoleon 
at  last  replied:  " I  ha/ve  given  you  my  confidence,  1 
can  do  nothing  mo7*e"  Never  was  confidence  more 
worthily  bestowed  ;  and  though  left  in  such  peril,  Soult 
continued  to  dispute  bravely  the  country  over  which 
he  retreated  from  Bayonne,  and  at  Orthez  burst  on 
the  enemy  with  such  impetuosity  that  he  well  nigh 
gained  the  victory.  Retiring,  fighting  as  he  went, 
he  at  length  entrenched  himself  at  Toulouse,  and  here, 
after  Napoleon's  abdication,  though  before  the  news 
had  reached  him,  fought  the  famous  battle  of  Tou- 
louse. 

Each  side  claimed  the  victory;  but,  according  to 
English  historians  themselves,  Wellington's  loss  was 
far  greater  than  Soult's ;  and  the  latter  was  ready  tho 
next  morning  to  begin  the  fight  while  the  former  was 
not.  As  the  two  armies  thus  stood  menacing  each 
other  the  news  of  Napoleon's  abdication  arrived. 
Scult^  however,  not  having  received  authentic  and  full 


338  DELIVERS     UP     HIS     8WOED, 

information  of  the  terms  of  the  abdication,  refused  to 
make  any  change  in  his  operations,  except  to  grant 
an  armistice  till  farther  reports  could  be  received 
Even  if  Napoleon  had  abdicated,  he  did  not  know  thai 
the  Bourbons  would  bo  reinstated,  or  that  the  army 
should  not  retain  its  present  hostile  attitude.  In  tliia 
uncertain  state  of  affairs,  the  two  leaders  again  pre- 
pared for  battle ;  but  the  useless  waste  of  blood  was 
spared  by  orders  from  the  minister  of  War  ;  and  Soult 
delivered  up  his  command  to  the  Duke  of  Angou- 
leme.  As  before  remarked,  he  struck  the  last  blow, 
and  fired  the  last  cannon  shot,  for  Napoleon  and  the 
Empire. 

His  conduct  at  Waterloo  has  caused  many  remarks, 
and  subjected  him  to  some  heavy  accusations.  But  the 
most  that  can  be  made  of  it  is,  that  he  did  not  act  with 
his  accustomed  vigour.  At  Waterloo  he  was  not  the 
hero  of  Austerlitz, 

Soult  has  committed  many  errors ;  and  it  could  not 
well  be  otherwise.  A  life  passed  in  such  an  agitated 
political  sea  as  his  has  been,  must  now  and  then  exhibit 
some  contradictions  and  inconsistencies.  But  these  mi- 
nor faults  are  buried  beneath  his  noble  deeds  ;  and  his 
blood  so  freely  shed  on  so  many  battle-fields  for  France 
— the  great  talents  he  has  placed  at  the  service  of  his 
country — and  the  glory  with  which  he  has  covered  her 
armies,  will  render  him  dear  to  her  long  after  his  event- 
ful life  has  closed. 

The  Duke  of  Dalrnatia  is  now  seventy-seven  years  of 
age ;  and  though  he  has  resigned  his  office  of  Mimstel 
of  War,  he  is  still  President  of  the  Council,  and  takes 
an  active  part  in  the  political  affairs  of  France. 

Nothing  shows  more  plainly  the  ridiculous  self- 
conceit  of  English  historians  in  drawing  a  para) 


MARSHAL     8OULT.  338 

lex  between  Wellington  and  Bonaparte,  merely  because 
the  former  won  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  or  rather,  was 
Commander-in-Chief  when  it  was  won — than  this  long 
struggle  between  him  and  Soult  in  Spain.  The  French 
Marshal  showed  himself  a  match  for  him  at  any  time ; 
Day,  beat  him  oftener  and  longer  than  he  was  beaten. 
The  advantage,  if  any,  was  on  the  side  of  the  French 
Marshal ;  for  while  he  possessed  equal  coolness  and 
prudence,  he  carried  greater  force  in  his  onsets.  Yet 
who  would  think  of  drawing  a  parallel  between  Soult 
and  Napoleon,  with  the  least  intention  of  making  them 
equal.  Wellington  was  no  ordinary  general ;  and  he 
receives  all  the  merit  he  deserves,  when  put  beside 
Soult  as  an  equal.  Pitted  against  each  other  for  years, 
they  were  so  nearly  balanced,  that  th  jre  seems  little  to 
choose  between  them ;  but  to  place  either  beside  Napo- 
leon as  his  equal,  excites  a  smilo  in  any  Mie  but  an 
Englishman, 


. 


90095-1388 


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